The Road Not Taken
by Dragongirl16
Summary: 20 years after Harry defeated Voldemort, a new Dark Lord rose in the Europe. When all is lost, and his family being killed before his very eyes, to what lengths would Harry go to change the future? Time Travel AU COMPLETE.
1. Prologue

Prologue

The ruins of Hogwarts rose up into the night sky. The stars were obscured by the raging bonfire that swept the Forbidden Forest. The castle was a shell of its former self, its windows broken and empty, the dormitories wrecked and the Great Hall the scene of the triumph of a Dark Lord.

_It wasn't supposed to end this way_, Harry's breath caught as the man who called himself the Dark Prince held up his hand for silence. _It wasn't supposed to __**end this way**_!

"Bring them forward!" The Dark Prince – _Hammerstein_, Harry refused to call the man by the ridiculous title – beckoned to the crowd. Three bodies were pushed forward. Harry cried out, but the guards standing over his shoulders held him in place.

"Daddy!" Lily cried out. A man caught her by the hair as she tried to dart forward. James and Albus were fighting with their captors. _Where is Ginny? Where is _Ginny? _The children were supposed to be with her, why – how are they here – what…_He tried to bite the hand that held him, but got a slap for his efforts.

"Bring them here," Hammerstein's crooked teeth were yellow. He gestured to the bloodstained spot in front of the raised dais he had created in the Great Hall.

"No!" Harry's magic strained against the charmed band around his wrist. It was the same band Harry had used as an Auror to keep detained witches and wizards from escaping. "Leave them alone!"

Hammerstein smiled. "Oh, no," he said. "We have to celebrate!"

James broke free from his captor. "Dad!" He made it three steps before he was taken down. Harry struggled as his son seized on the ground. James' back arched and his head connected with the floor with a sickening crack – the body flopped for a few seconds more and then went still.

Hammerstein made a face. "Oh, dear. It seems we've broken one!"

"James," Harry whispered. Albus had stopped struggling, shaking as he tried to keep Lily from looking.

"Never fear," Hammerstein called out. "We have two more to go!"

The crowd cheered. Harry gagged, grief and rage screaming through his mind. _My son_, he panted as small black dots began blooming across his vision. _They're going to kill my children._

"Bring the girl forward. I've a desire to hear her shriek," Hammerstein sat with a flourish. Guards dragged the two children apart, Albus being struck down as he fought them. Lily bloodied one man, kicking another in the balls as they tried to bring her forward.

"Leave her alone! I'll do anything! _Anything_!" Harry tried to stand, but the hex they had used to paralyze his legs still held. "Please! I'm begging you! _Please_!"

"You, the great Harry Potter, beg?" Hammerstein's eyes were lost in folds of skin as he smiled. "Why, you're starting to get the point, aren't you, Potter? Once I break you, I break the resistance of the wizarding world. You as my dog; my broken, obedient slave, and the rest will fall like leaves in the wind," Hammerstein snapped his fingers. "This is just some fun, to pass the time while we get our forces in place. You, the Boy-Who-Lived, you will be the key to the eventual surrender of the world. Isn't it grand?"

"Dad!" Albus shouted. "Stop them! Please! Daddy, _please_!"

Harry's blood went cold. _It wasn't supposed to end like this_, he watched as they dragged Lily forward. His vision went dark in the corners. _It wasn't – it wasn't supposed to __**end like this**_.

There was a flicker at the edge of the crowd. McGonagall's ghost glided to a spot behind Albus, her transparent hands going through his captors as if she could strangle them for real. _McGonagall_, Harry's breath caught. _The Headmaster's office! The device!_

Harry looked down at the band on his wrist, then up at his daughter. Lily had bared her teeth at the men standing over her, nose bloody and lip torn. One man was still down on the ground, hands cupped over his privates as he moaned. She glanced up, as if feeling Harry's gaze. She had tears in her eyes, Harry noted in some distant part of his mind. But she did not let them fall.

"Daddy," his daughter said. Her voice wobbled. "_Go._"

Harry let out a harsh breath and closed his eyes. His magic flexed around the band – it shattered, slicing open his wrist with a fountain of blood. His guards shouted and tried to catch him. Harry took the second of confusion to break the Apparition wards and was gone.

The Headmaster's office was wrecked. The glass cabinets lay in ruins. Harry dragged his broken body over the shards, ignoring the gaping wounds they sliced into his skin.

It had to be there. It was an artifact Harry had carted from the Crabbe manor himself, entrusting it to Headmistress McGonagall. A time turner, a _modified_ time turner. He had to find it. He had to _find it_. His failure to turn it over to the Ministry had been the reason why he'd been replaced as the head of the Auror division. Harry had never trusted the Ministry with the important devices; with a time turner like that, there was only one place for it in his mind.

_There_. His fingers touched gold wire. He yanked it out of the debris. His heart thudded hard in his chest. The casing was cracked. The delicate wound wires were bent. The grains of sand were leaking out, mingling with the blood and open wounds on Harry's hands.

It had to work, Harry mouthed the words as the cry of the crowd went up outside. He couldn't – if he lost them, if it all turned out to be for naught…

Harry closed his hands around the device. His wand was long gone. He curled his blood and magic over the spun gold, breathing prayers and promises to a god he no longer believed in.

_Please let me go back and fix this. Please let me go back, please let me go back, please, _please_…_

The world shattered around him and all went dark.


	2. Chapter One

Chapter One

Harry woke with a shout. He swung out, eyes blind and blurry. He was – there was – _Lily_ – he had to find the…

"Boy!" A voice roared next to him. A door was yanked open and a hand caught Harry across the face. "You'll bloody well be quiet in this house! I'll have none of your freakish nonsense all night long!"

Harry groped at the hand tangled in his top. "Uncle – Uncle Vernon?"

"Of course it's me, you twit! What kind of mental deficiency do you have?"

Harry hung onto the meaty fist as Vernon dragged him out of the Cupboard Under The Stairs. "Wait – wait –," Harry gasped. "Wait – there was a – where am I – I –"

"Where are you? Where _are_ you? You ungrateful brat, who do you think you are?" Vernon's round face was a featureless blob in front of Harry's eyes. "You're in our house, you freak! First, you pull that stunt with the snake and now you've been keeping us all awake with your noise! Stop it, stop it right now!"

"Let me go!" Harry struggled in the man's hold. This wasn't – this wasn't _right_. He had – he had to – there was no _time_ – Harry had to…

The cuff to his ear caught Harry unawares. Black and white spots bloomed over his vision. Harry cried out, tasting blood as Vernon dropped him.

"You'll keep quiet, you little freak," Vernon pushed Harry back into the cupboard. Harry's head connected with a sharp crack against the frame. The door slammed shut and the lock was flipped. Harry lay huddled on the narrow, dusty strip of concrete between his cot and the door.

_What went wrong_?_ This wasn't – _Harry had meant to go _back_, to warn himself, to – to fix it all. Back to the start, when everything had gone wrong, back to when –

Harry groped around, feeling the space. It _was_ the Cupboard Under the Stairs. That was Uncle Vernon. The man had never – he had never _beat_ Harry before, not, not really – _liar_, a voice in his head said – but Harry was not supposed to _be there!_

He found the cord to the light bulb. Weak as it was, Harry still winced away from the illumination. There used to be a small, cracked mirror on one of his shelves. He found his glasses with some fumbling, and then he found the broken bit of glass. He stared into it, heart stuttering in his chest.

His ten-year-old reflection stared back at him. Wide green eyes, obscured by thick glasses, the messy mop of hair he had never been able to tame. Harry's breath caught as he pushed up the fringe. There, there was the lightning bolt scar, the mark that branded him as the Boy-Who-Lived, as well as a Horcrux, a keeper of a piece of Voldemort's soul.

Harry let his hands drop. Heavy feet stomped up the stairs. He reached for the cord and shut off the light before Vernon could return. It was an old reaction, a _known_ reaction. Harry – Harry was…he was…

"I'm back," he whispered into the dark. Hot pressure burned against his lids. "I – I'm back." His children were safe. Except – except –

"Merlin," Harry clutched at his chest. His _children_. They had killed his _children_, right in – right in _front_ of…

Harry curled over his knees, clutching at his cot as he breathed out shuddering sobs. He had failed. He had _failed_. His children were gone, weren't even alive, they were – they were…

Harry froze, eyes open and unseeing. No. His children weren't dead. They just weren't _born yet_. Harry had – there had been a mistake. The device had been broken. Harry had meant to go back only a few years, months if he could, to protect his children, to warn the world about the evil growing in the east. He'd meant to go back and _talk_ to Ginny, to – to try and…

But he had gone too far. Harry pulled off his glasses, hands trembling like leaves in a gale. _The trouble with time turners_, he remembered Hermione saying, _was that they caused paradoxes if you went back too far_. Hermione! Harry jolted on the ground. Ron and Hermione were still alive! So were Remus and Tonks and _Sirius_. There were so many _still alive_.

But…Harry shook his head, wincing as his headache bloomed behind his eyes. Time turners were only supposed to take you back physically. He – he was _ten_ again. He was little, skin and bones and starving. He was no longer in his adult body, with the scars and muscle he had acquired through bad luck and hard work. He was – he was just a _kid_ again. _It wasn't – it wasn't supposed to work that way_.

Harry covered his face with his hands and tried to slow the frantic chaos in his mind. Go slow, he remembered Hermione lecturing him once over a homework problem. Work it out, piece by piece. Panic threatened to choke him. Harry battled it back, ruthless. He had to concentrate. It – he could ruin _everything_ if he didn't bloody well _concentrate_.

Years of Auror training and a brutal course in the horrors of war had taught Harry how to push his mind past the horror or pain of an event and focus. He was ten, near eleven if he had to guess by his placement in the cupboard. He had traveled back in time, but not physically as he had anticipated.

Harry closed his eyes and tried to clear his mind. It was difficult, far more difficult than he remembered. His body was a riot of different emotions and thoughts, his heart still beat too fast in his ears, breath coming in short pants instead of slow and steady.

He dove into his mind. The books Malfoy had given him had been far better teachers than Snape had ever been. Which was ironic, since the books had been the Potion Master's own, inherited by Malfoy when Snape had died. Harry tried to push the irrelevant thoughts away, but they lingered. Malfoy – Harry had buried the hatchet with the Slytherin years after they had left Hogwarts. Harry had never seen the point to keep the grudge alive, even if Ginny had been furious with Harry's acceptance of Malfoy in the Ministry. Merlin, they'd even started to – to be – well, not _friends_, exactly, but Malfoy had somehow insinuated himself with the Aurors at the Ministry and often showed up at the Friday night pub meetings they used to have. Somehow, Harry always ended up sitting next to the blond git, he remembered. It was how they'd buried the hatchet in the first place.

It hadn't been _easy_, Harry remembered. He was still too prone to take Draco's dry humor as cutting remarks meant to hurt. The Slytherin had a cynical view of the world that Harry had come to appreciate after hard cases gone sour, after having to take children out of bad homes and arresting a man for the murder of his wife. Draco wouldn't pity him, wouldn't pat him on the hand or demand that he '_get over it_' or '_don't dwell_'. The Slytherin had no words of comfort for Harry, just dry humor or a comfortable silence. Harry shouldn't have encouraged the easy way Draco would also pick up the tab. Ron and Hermione had been leery for far longer than Harry, but the blond had won them all over in the end, somehow.

Harry shook off the memories and tried to concentrate. Draco was still alive, now, as well. _So are Ron and Hermione and Terry and – and_ –

Harry pushed it all away and concentrated. There was a foreign touch to his mind, but it had Voldemort's familiar tang to its mental 'taste'. Harry probed deeper, but his mind, his _soul_ was the only one in residence. His thirty-six year old, adult, battle-scarred mind, in a ten-year-old body.

Harry dropped his hands and opened his eyes. _Fact_, he heard Hermione's voice in his mind yet again. _You're ten years old again. Fact: you are back at the beginning, before everything happened_.

Fact: You have a chance to change _everything_.

Harry's breath caught yet again. He could do it. He _could_. He could save them all, he could listen more, learn more, warn Sirius, warn Remus, protect _everyone_ from the fate the other future had carved for them.

_Remember the paradoxes, Harry_, the memory of Hermione whispered. But how could paradox exist, if Harry had gone back to his ten-year-old self? There was no double to effect time, no double of himself to create a paradox within the time line.

Harry stared out into the dark, mind a million miles away from the dusty, cramped closet around him. He had a second chance to get it all right. He had a second chance to make sure his children lived. He had a _chance_.

Harry had every intention of taking it.


	3. Chapter Two

Chapter Two

Aunt Petunia let him out of the cupboard early. It was just after dawn, his aunt in her fluffy pink robe and slippers, her curlers still rolled tight against her scalp.

"Get cleaned up," she said and threw one of Dudley's old shirts at him. Harry took it, staring up at her. Vernon and Aunt Petunia had been yet more casualties of the war. Dudley had succumbed to his own obesity years before the attacks, a victim of a massive stroke. His death had gutted Aunt Petunia, Harry remembered. It was one of the few times Harry had ever seen her cry. Harry had gone to the funeral, but stayed at the back, under a disillusionment charm. He hadn't wanted to upset them or cause a scene. Ginny had given birth to their second child by then and Harry had been able to imagine, just a little, the type of hell his aunt had been going through.

"Well, _go_," she pushed at his shoulder. "Get breakfast started before Vernon wakes."

"Yes, Aunt Petunia," Harry took the bright red shirt and stumbled to the downstairs bath. Blood was crusted under his nose and he had the beginnings of an impressive shiner. He used his old shirt to clean off the worst of the gunk; Aunt Petunia was peculiar about her towels and Harry had no wish to force down the castor oil his aunt liked to use as punishment.

Harry kept his head down as he started breakfast. The memory of his life with the Dursleys was something that Harry had done his best to forget. They had never wanted him, aside from the stipend Dumbledore gave them every month to make sure Harry was "welcome". He hadn't found out about _that_ little fact until years later, as well. Their blood connection had kept him safe from the wizarding world, true. He had been protected from the likes of Rita Skeeter and the rest of the curious public as well. Unfortunately, there was nothing Dumbledore's money could do about the way his relatives had treated him inside the home.

As Harry remembered, Aunt Petunia had never, overtly, been horrid, aside from the few times she had spit vitriol over his mother. She intervened a few times before Uncle Vernon's 'punishments' could go too far. She had never checked Dudley's behavior, but the boy had been cut from the same cloth as his father, as Molly Weasley had liked to say. There was nothing Harry could do about them.

His aunt, however. Harry slid a glance over to the kitchen table. Aunt Petunia lived in a fantasy world where she was the queen bee of a family that adored her. Harry's presence was a reminder that her fantasy world was just that. If Harry could win an ally in his aunt, then perhaps he could make his remaining years in the Dursleys' household a little easier.

He hid a snort at the direction his thoughts had taken. Malfoy's influence, he could imagine Ron yelling. All the better for it, he could hear Draco counter. The two had managed to hold a stilted conversation before Hammerstein's invasions had begun. Harry felt his smile drop from his face.

Draco hadn't lasted long after Ron and Hermione. The Malfoy name had become too entwined with the Auror division and the Ministry. Draco, his wife and son had been Hammerstein's targets in the early attacks as well. The whole Auror division had been alerted when the Malfoy manor wards had gone down. They'd arrived too late, but Draco had not gone down without a fight. The house had been booby trapped, taking out all of the wizards Hammerstein had sent to take the place. Draco, his wife and Scorpius had been found in the ruins, serene and pale, dead by poison. Malfoy had known there was no way out and had written his own ending instead of suffering to the last. _The bloody, selfish bastard_. Harry shook his head as if he could shake away the thoughts.

Harry had cursed the man's grave for days, weeks, coming back after the long nights and skirmishes that painted nightmares for him to relive when he slept. Draco's ghost had never appeared, but Harry liked to think that the man was there, somewhere, arguing with him.

With some difficulty, Harry pulled his mind back to the present. He frowned. _Or is it the past_? He shrugged and finished up the last of the dishes. He ignored the faint tremor to his hands – he always had that reaction when he remembered the way Draco and Scorpius had died.

_Stop thinking about it_, he pushed the memory away and dried his hands on a dishtowel. Vernon was gone, off to work without a second glance at Harry. Dudley was off to a friend's house. That left Harry and Petunia alone in the kitchen.

Start slow, he reminded himself. "Anything else, Aunt Petunia?" He crossed to the kitchen table. The remains of breakfast had been cleared away, but Harry had yet to eat.

"No. Have some toast and go weed the garden," Petunia flicked her magazine open. "And don't make a mess this time."

"Yes, Aunt Petunia," Harry swallowed back disappointment and turned to make his toast. Small steps, he imagined Draco whispering. _Lull her into trusting you. You have years of animosity between you. Slowly, slowly, Harry. A Slytherin never hurries into anything_.

Harry stuffed his toast into his mouth at the memory. The pure blooded brat had been right about _that_, Harry scooted out the door before Petunia could reprimand him. Slytherins took _forever_ to do _anything_.

* * *

Harry stretched out on the grass, arms folded behind his head, eyes closed as he soaked up the sun. The garden tools were forgotten at his side. Aunt Petunia's favorite chore was for Harry to weed the garden. The woman had box hedges and flowerbeds along the edge of their property that took almost an entire afternoon to weed. Harry recognized a few of the plants from his old-future Potions classes. _How odd_. He made a face, eyes still closed. _Potions class_.

In the light of day, Harry was able to puzzle out more of what had happened. Going back so far meant a lot of things, meant he had so many missed chances he could correct. Harry meant to get into Gryffindor again – how could he not, with Dumbledore watching him for any influence from Voldemort? Harry needed the protection that Gryffindor House would bring, but he also meant to cultivate more friendships outside of his House this time around.

Luna's help, as crazy as she could be, had been a huge asset in both the war with Voldemort and the later invasion by Hammerstein. Luna, her father and her husband had run the underground newspaper until they had been killed in an explosion that had wiped out half of Diagon Alley in one go. Terry Boot was another person Harry meant to seek out this time around. Boot had been an amazing Auror and a good friend later on in Harry's life. Terry had also been a…_friend_, later on, after his divorce and after the attacks had started. It had never been anything serious between them, more for the sharing of warmth and a way to remind them that they were alive when the attacks had gotten worse. Ginny had found out, somehow, about them and had thrown that in his face as yet another one of Harry's failings. Harry had never seen how or whom he was involved with was her business at that point. Still, it had shadowed what little happiness Harry had been able to steal before the world went to hell in a hand basket.

Harry rubbed at his face, trying to push the thoughts away. He and Ginny were a long way off in the grand scheme of things. He would figure that part out later. Adult thoughts like sex and children still made him feel weird, like a pervert, every time he caught a glimpse of himself in a mirror. Never mind that the woman he'd had _children_ with was nine at the moment and, Merlin. He just had to stop _thinking_ about it. His kids weren't dead, not yet. They were still in limbo, safe from whatever horror the future held for them. He just had to figure how to fix everything so they would _stay_ safe. He pushed the grief that threatened to take over away with mental hands. He needed to concentrate.

What Harry needed to focus on at the moment was his memories of his first year at Hogwarts. He would be eleven soon. It was July seventh, which meant he had less than two weeks before his Hogwarts letters would start to arrive. He needed a way to talk to Aunt Petunia about them. The last thing Harry wanted was another row with Uncle Vernon about the letters. Harry had been sore for a week from the man's spanking. Sitting on the back of Hagrid's motorbike had been agony. Harry had been lucky the giant man had been so oblivious.

So it was with no little trepidation that Harry approached his aunt after the dishes had been washed and supper had been cleared from the table. Petunia liked to read in the kitchen while Uncle Vernon and Dudley watched television in the living room.

"Aunt Petunia?" Harry worried at his lower lip. "Can I talk to you?"

"No," she turned a page of her romance novel. "Go away."

"But…"

"I said no." It was followed by a sharp glance.

Harry held his ground. "It's about Hogwarts," he lowered his voice. He was rewarded by Petunia's start and her book slapping shut.

"What did you just say?" Her tone could have cut glass.

"Hogwarts," Harry met her furious glare.

"How did you learn about that filthy place?" Petunia surged up out of her chair, grabbing Harry's upper arm in a vise-like grip. She hauled them outside, where summer's lingering twilight still colored the sky. "You tell me this minute, boy. Who told you?"

"I'm going to get my letter soon," Harry avoided her question. "It's going to upset Uncle Vernon if it comes without warning."

Petunia's mouth was pinched down in an unflattering line. "There will be no such nastiness in my house, boy. I will_ not_ tolerate it, I will_ not_ –"

"They'll keep coming until you can't ignore them," Harry winced as her grip turned brutal. "Aunt Petunia, you're hurting me."

"I should have let Vernon beat this nonsense out of you, just like my father should have –," Petunia let Harry go with a push. "You're not going."

"Uncle Vernon can't beat it out of me, Aunt Petunia. Mum was a witch and I'm just like –," Harry's ears rang from the slap his aunt had just delivered. It was the first time he could remember her ever striking him.

"I have taken you into my house, put up with your freakish ways, your freakish looks, your _eyes_," Petunia seethed. "I will not have you back talk to me, young man."

"It will happen, Aunt Petunia," Harry stuck to his plan. Somewhere he imagined Draco shaking his head in disappointment. "Owls will fill the yard and hundreds of letters will invade the house. Unless," Harry stressed as her hand rose. "Unless you let me answer it and go to Hogwarts, they will never give you a moment's peace."

"You would dare to threaten me?" Petunia drew herself up.

"No, Aunt Petunia," Harry's cheek throbbed. "It's the simple truth. If you know _now_, Uncle Vernon won't be so upset. Dudley won't be frightened and the neighbors will never wonder why we have four hundred owls in the yard."

Harry watched as Petunia drew in a sharp breath, but then dropped her hand. "You and your miserable kind," she hissed. Her eyes were bright. "You're just like your mother."

"Thank you," Harry said.

Petunia's eyes narrowed. "See if I _ever_ interfere between you and Vernon again, you _miserable_ freak. You get nothing but toast and water until your precious letter comes." She struck out, quick as a viper and had a hold of his ear. "You are to clean the garage, the attic _and_ the basement, young man, and I'll not hear a peep out of you. You will also take over the laundry, the…" Harry's list of chores grew as Petunia marched them inside and tossed Harry into the cupboard, throwing the lock with a loud crack.

Harry slumped onto his cot with a sigh. That, he supposed, could have gone better.

* * *

The letter, when it came, brought back memories. Harry held the heavy cream envelope, thumb brushing over the even script on the front. Harry had always wondered who wrote out the invitations every year. Were they done by hand? Did a professor write them out or were they done by spell? Harry used to console himself with the idea that Dumbledore had them created by using a spell, so then Harry could excuse the old wizard when none of the staff seemed to realize that Harry's room had been the Cupboard Under the Stairs that first year at school.

In his adult years, Harry had had to accept that at the very least Dumbledore had known at least some of the details about Harry's life at the Dursleys. Harry knew the older wizard had done little to interfere, believing it best for Harry to grow up as normal as possible, but a small part of him had never forgiven the man for leaving Harry there in the first place.

The resentment still burned. Especially on a slice of bread and only water to drink for days, not to mention the back breaking work of cleaning the garage and attic. Harry's blisters caught on the edge of the envelope. Aunt Petunia had had him scrubbing the cement in an attempt to clean off the oil spots it had accumulated.

In the kitchen, Harry could hear one of the few rows Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon indulge in. Aunt Petunia normally let Uncle Vernon have his way – she was much better at undermining his authority and doing things behind his back instead of standing up to him. Aunt Petunia was much more willing to persuade Uncle Vernon to her way of thinking – however, all of her tricks had failed at preparing her husband for the arrival of Harry's letter.

So, they were having a row. A loud, vicious row from the sound of it. Harry winced as Aunt Petunia's voice rose to a shout. _Thank god Dudley's gone out_, Harry sighed and leaned back against the wall. _He'd be punching me for getting his parents mad at each other._ He could hear their yelling right through the door to the kitchen.

"He is a child, Petunia. We can fix him. Give me a belt and a few days and I'm sure this will all…"

"No, Vernon."

"Petunia, I will not be dictated to in my own house!"

"They will come here, Vernon," Petunia hissed. "They are all freaks, in freak clothing, with freakish ways. The neighbors will _see_, Vernon. We will be the talk of the neighborhood!"

"That does not follow that we should let the boy go off to that school of his! Petunia, no. I won't have it. What if they _teach_ the boy?"

"Good! Then he won't _accidentally_ break my dishes anymore."

"Petunia!"

"He will _go_, Vernon."

"He bloody well will not!"

"My sister set the house on fire once," Petunia's tone was like ice. "She threw a tantrum and got her way because her precious powers scared my parents. I won't have the boy's freak powers ruining my home, Vernon. I won't have it! He will go to that school and he will learn how to _control _that freakish power of his!"

"This is all because your sister was a freak!" Vernon erupted. "If the bloody bint hadn't gone and gotten herself pregnant, this never would have happened!"

"This isn't _my_ fault!"

"You and your damn family!"

"I'm nothing like them!" Harry heard the slap of Petunia's hand against Vernon's cheek.

"Do you see what this boy is doing to our home?" Vernon's roar shook the house. "And now you want to cater to the whims of these freaks?"

"Better he be gone for the school year than put up with him here. Look at what he's made me do!" Petunia's voice wavered. Harry thought he heard the threat of tears. They were Petunia's weapon of last resort. Harry knew his Uncle Vernon couldn't stand the sight of his wife crying. He caved every time.

The whipping Harry got was as vicious as the one he remembered from his first time around. But in the end, Harry was allowed to respond to the letter and allowed to go to London the day before the train to Hogwarts was supposed to leave to get his school things.

It was a victory, of sorts, Harry acknowledged as he lay curled up on his cot. At least Vernon hadn't shipped them out to a shoddy island in the middle of the sea. He fell asleep to the throb of the welts running down his rear end and legs. He dreamt of Sirius' flying motorcycle and Hagrid's deep laugh.

* * *

On August thirtieth, Aunt Petunia dropped him off at the closest intersection to the Leaky Cauldron Harry could remember. He had a small case for his clothes and some pounds shoved in his pocket. The money had been grudgingly given and it had taken all of Harry's persuasion for the last few weeks to wiggle it out of his aunt. He had no idea if he could rent a room at the Leaky Cauldron, let alone pay for it with muggle money, but he had to try.

Harry's fringe was long enough to hide the scar on his forehead, something he was grateful for as he pushed his way up to Tom and got a room. It never ceased to amaze Harry how much the wizarding world got away with – he couldn't imagine a muggle child ordering a room and being allowed to pay for it on vacancy. Harry decided to count on his luck while he could. He would certainly need it for the next day.


	4. Chapter Three

Chapter Three

August thirty-first found Harry fighting the horde of other last minute shoppers, most of them families with children all bound for Hogwarts as well. Harry tucked himself up next to the corner of a shop, watching the crowd as it surged past. Familiar faces were dotted here and there, a few future Aurors, a few future victims. There were more people than Harry wanted to count who had ended up as the casualties of two wars less than twenty years apart.

Harry shook his head, as if he could shake the memories from his mind. His Hogwarts letter was folded in his pocket. He needed money, first off. Gringotts was his logical first stop, but he didn't have his key. So, what to do?

Harry shrugged and decided to risk it. If all else failed, the goblins would know to whom his key had been given to. Why Dumbledore had not included it with his letter, Harry wasn't sure.

Harry dashed across the entrance to Knockturn Alley and headed up to the snow-white granite building that towered over the other shops on the alley. Harry slipped past the burnished bronze doors, sparing a glance at the engraved words and stepped inside.

The cavernous room was exactly as he remembered it. The great crystal chandeliers lit the space, dangling down from the ceiling like brilliant yellow teardrops. The goblins had gone underground during Hammerstein's invasion. The loss of infrastructure had helped spread the panic in wizarding England, but Harry hadn't blamed them. He would have liked to have taken his family and hidden them underground where Hammerstein couldn't find them, too.

Harry found the smallest queue and used his short wait to gaze around. The bank's vaulted ceiling, he realized, was made up of intricate runes set in large recessed squares. He spotted the dull glimmer of gold and silver at the corners. It looked like the bank building had been reinforced by spells, which answered one of the questions Harry had had about how the whole structure had simply vanished one day.

Then it was his turn at the teller. A familiar face greeted Harry over the tall desk. "Key?" Griphook asked.

"Uh," Harry couldn't help but smile at the goblin. "I haven't got one."

"Haven't got one?" Griphook peered down his long nose at Harry.

"I'm uh, Potter," Harry dropped his voice. "Harry Potter? I was told my parents had a vault here but I never got –"

"Harry _Potter_?" The woman behind him gasped.

Harry ducked his head, panic jumpstarting his heart. "Um…"

"Merlin, it's Harry Potter!" Her voice rang out over the bank. Silence spread. Harry met Griphook's stare.

"Help?" He didn't mean to sound _that_ pathetic. Pandemonium erupted around them. People grabbed for him. Harry struggled away. He had never been comfortable with the mass hysteria that had accompanied his name. People had always crowded around him, tried to _touch_ him, like he was an inanimate good luck charm carved from human flesh.

Now the press of bodies brought back worse memories, like the howling horde of reporters during his divorce trial, the screams of the mob as people panicked in the streets during a blitz attack. It reminded Harry of the way he had been thrown in a packed cell full of other prisoners and finding Hugo, Ron and Hermione's son, dead in the corner from biting off his own tongue.

Then the goblins were forcing their way through the crowd. Magic created a barrier between Harry and a couple of hysterical witches who were fighting over Harry's small form.

"This way, Mr. Potter," Griphook took his arm. Harry didn't mean to flinch – he was a thirty-six-year-old man in an eleven-year-old body for Merlin's sake, not a _baby_ – but Griphook's tight hold softened and Harry was ushered in through a door at the back of the lobby.

Harry found himself in a pleasant sitting room. A few normal sized chairs as well as a few smaller ones dotted the area. "Please forgive us," Griphook let go of Harry and bustled over to the desk set in front of the only other door in the room. "The wizarding world knows your name."

"Apparently," Harry muttered, rubbing at a sore spot on his back.

Griphook adjusted his glasses. "We must be sure, Mr. Potter, of your identity. With your permission?"

"What?" Harry glanced around. "I don't understand."

"I must cast a spell on you to verify that you are, indeed, Mr. Harry Potter," a touch of impatience colored Griphook's tone. "With your permission?"

"…Sure," Harry frowned as the goblin drew a wand from his pocket and flicked a spell over Harry. He caught a bright glow from the corner of his eye. _An identification spell_. Harry had gotten used to casting them during his first few years as an Auror. He and his partner had been put on what was called the drunk patrol, a hazing duty all the Aurors were put through when they first joined the force. The spell was useful in identifying passed out drunks at pubs, as well as finding the name of broken bits of bodies strewn about after a blitz.

Harry clamped down on his lower lip, pushing the thought away. Would he always be plagued by those thoughts? It hadn't happened yet. If Harry were clever, it would _never_ happen. There was no bloody reason to _dwell_.

"Welcome to the wizarding world, Mr. Potter," Griphook said, disrupting Harry's thoughts. The goblin's hands were clasped at his waist. "How may we serve you today?"

"I," Harry blinked a few times. He hated losing small bits of time like that. "I need some money? For my supplies," Harry pulled out his list. "I got this letter, see. And the man at the Leaky Cauldron wouldn't take my money, uh, my normal money?" Harry knew he was laying it on a bit thick, but he was supposed to be eleven, right?

"I see," Griphook appeared grave. "You have not had any contact with the wizarding world before this."

"No, sir," Harry scratched at the back of his head. "My aunt said a few things, but I never thought it was this big."

"If you require some advice, I would be able to explain some of the basics to you, Mr. Potter. Is there a guardian we should inform about your whereabouts?" Griphook's eyes gleamed.

"Um, no. I came on my own," Harry shrugged. "How much will I need for all this?" He gave Griphook his list.

The goblin's gaze flicked down over the paper. "No more than fifty galleons, if you bought everything new," Griphook handed it back.

"How much do I have in my account?"

"Account?"

"…vault?"

"You should have been issued your key upon your arrival to our world," Griphook made a rude sound. He gestured for Harry to follow him. They went through the far door. "We shall set up a new lock for you, Mr. Potter, and key it to your magical signature so that no duplicate keys may be issued."

"…Thanks," Harry ducked through a smaller door. They came to a spiral staircase.

"You are of a long line of wizards, Mr. Potter. Your family has had vaults with us for a very long time."

"I have family?" Harry had always been curious about that.

"I am not aware of anyone else in your direct line, Mr. Potter."

"Oh."

"As to your question about the amount of money in your vault," Griphook continued. Another goblin scuttled up to them as they passed a hall branching off to one side. The giant spiral stairs were starting to make Harry dizzy.

"Ah, yes." Griphook shuffled the papers. "You have ten thousand galleons in your school trust."

Which sounded about right to Harry's memory. "All that will pay for my schooling?"

"Yes. Your parents also had another vault, their savings and other sundries, to be remitted to you upon your seventeenth birthday."

Another thing Harry had known. Ginny had squealed the first time he had brought her to the Potter family vaults after they had been married. Looking back, after three children, a house, utilities and a host of other adult responsibilities, the money hadn't been all _that_ much, even with the Black family's vault added to his. Ginny had acted like they were stupendously rich, though, so Harry had never given the vaults much thought. It wasn't until they started to have problems making ends meet, with Ginny's spending and Harry's tendency to spoil his children, that the vaults had started to run dry.

This time around, Harry vowed, he would be more careful.

"So," Harry pulled out his list again. "Is there stuff on here I can get used?"

Harry caught Griphook's wince and hid a smile. "Yes, Mr. Potter. Many of the texts you should be able to find used. A little worn, perhaps marked, but serviceable."

Which reminded Harry of Snape's potions text and the way the notes had been scribbled in the margins. "I don't mind," he said.

"Very well, then," they came to the platform with the carts. It occurred to Harry that Hagrid must have come and gone with the Sorcerer's Stone already. Harry jolted, partially from the steep drop they rounded, but also from the memory. _The Stone!_ He'd forgotten about the Stone and Quirrell and the great bloody dog Hagrid had tried to keep as a pet and –

"Here we are, Mr. Potter," Griphook clambered out of the cart.

"Thank you," Harry wobbled off after him. He had so much to remember, he realized as he watched Griphook re-key his vault. He needed a bloody list of things he needed to do!

Harry counted out fifty galleons, thanked the goblin for his help and received a new key as he departed from the back exit of the bank. Harry flattened his fringe over his scar and pulled Dudley's old jacket around his body. The late August heat had been tempered by an early fall storm. The overcast sky rumbled from time to time.

Harry eyed the graying sky, then his list. This time around he didn't have Hagrid to help him with his packages. He needed to plan this out. A trunk was necessary, but impossible to move on his own. His books might be manageable, and – Hedwig!

Harry scrubbed at his face with both hands and decided to take one thing at a time. The smallest, easiest thing he could carry was his wand, which meant Ollivander's was his first stop.

The shop was quiet as Harry entered. The bell over the door tinkled. Harry peered around, trying to spot Mr. Ollivander in the gloom.

"One moment!" The man's voice floated out from the back of the shop. Harry peered at the thick layer of dust. For a maker of wands, the man sure didn't know his cleaning charms.

"Ah, Mr. Potter," Ollivander appeared. "Welcome back."

For a moment, Harry panicked. "Back?" He squeaked.

"Your absence from the wizarding world has been long mourned," Ollivander's smile was just as creepy as Harry remembered. "And now you're here for your wand. I remember your parents' wands. Lily Evans. Willow. Very swishy. Good for charms."

And Potions, Harry wanted to add. "Will my wand be like hers?" He played dumb.

"Sometimes, sometimes not. The wand chooses the wizard, Mr. Potter. Not the other way around. Now, where to start? Where to start!"

It seemed to take twice as long as Harry remembered to find his wand. Ollivander seemed to take each failure as grand fun, clapping his hands with a laugh every time Harry knocked down a stack of boxes or blew out the lights.

"I wonder," Ollivander's mirth vanished as he reappeared with a familiar box. The magic in Harry's blood sang. It was his wand. _His _wand.

Harry smiled, even before he had the familiar wood cradled in his hand. The fountain of brilliant sparks flooded the air around him.

"Curious," Ollivander murmured. "How very curious."

Harry wasn't about to hear the tripe about Voldemort's supposed great, yet terrible, achievements. "I'll take it," he dug out his money. Ollivander's strange smile followed Harry out of the shop.

The books were next. Harry ducked around the crowd in Flourish and Botts, heading for the used section. Harry remembered the Weasleys pouring over the books every year, buying the bare supplies the children had needed. Ginny had been adamant that their children should have brand new supplies every year, brand new robes and clothes and every thing else they could possibly have. Harry had enjoyed seeing his children so happy, the memory of having to make do with Dudley's hand-me-downs also a sore spot on his soul.

Looking back, it had been silly. There was nothing wrong with used books. Hermione had loved hunting through old bookstores – she had dragged Harry out on book hunts once a month, when Ron and Ginny and the rest of the extended Weasley clan came together. The weekends at the Burrow had been crowded, noisy affairs – Harry had loved the family, really, but he had never been completely comfortable around all that noise. Hermione either, as it had turned out. So it had become a tradition of sorts, that when the Weasley clan would gather, at one point or another, Harry and Hermione would spend a day out together, searching for old books. Hermione's love of knowledge had not dimmed with age or motherhood – thanks to his old friend, Harry had gotten into the habit of reading every night – years too late, as Hermione often liked to lament.

This time around, Harry vowed, he would befriend Hermione before the troll tried to kill her. He remembered how miserable she had been the first few months at school. He'd try to change that, if he could.

Harry was able to find used versions of the Standard Book of Spells, as well as a copy of A History of Magic that had cramped notes in the margins. One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi had a number of used volumes on the shelves and Harry found a battered, but much annotated copy of _Magical Drafts and Potions_. The former owner seemed to have had Snape, since many of the recipes were detailed, on the side, as to which steps went where, how and when. With any luck, Harry would be able to avoid Snape's constant, critical eye that year. The rest of his books he had to buy new.

Harry was ecstatic to learn that he could have the books delivered to his room at the Leaky Cauldron. He didn't even have to give his name. He ordered his trunk to be delivered as well as his cauldron and potions supplies. His quills and ink were small enough to carry in a shopping bag. All he needed was robes and Hedwig and he was finished.

It always surprised Harry how people could _enjoy_ shopping. He was exhausted by the time he slumped into Madam Malkin's, ready to have an early supper and then sleep.

The familiar robe shop brought back more memories for Harry. He'd met Draco here, so young and ridiculous. He felt his smile falter. Draco had married a Greengrass girl, but Harry had rarely seen either of them together. Malfoy had shrugged it off the one time Harry had been drunk enough to ask. "Some people marry for love," Draco had said, cutting him a sardonic glance and a raised eyebrow. "And some people settle for what they can get."

Harry had never asked about it again. That had been early on in their adult dealings. Draco had taken over his father's spot in public life – Lucius Malfoy had been too visible as a follower of Voldemort for anyone to trust him again. The man had been unstable, also, after his stay in Azkaban. Harry had hated the man, hated his choices, hated the way he had molded Draco into a mindless model of himself, but Harry also had to admit that, as dysfunctional as the Malfoy family had been, they had loved each other. Narcissa's desperation had hit Harry hard – he knew full well to what extent a mother's love could do to drive a person to save a child. Draco was a lucky bastard to have all that bounty, and the fool had never realized it until the Dark Lord was ready to murder them all if Draco failed his task.

Draco had never seemed _happy_, Harry remembered as he waited for Madam Malkin. Especially after the Battle of Hogwarts and his marriage. Scorpius was the only thing that got the man to light up. Harry had never asked what had made him so sad. It was…almost too close to the same melancholy that threatened Harry from time to time.

"Sorry to keep you waiting!" Madam Malkin rushed him back to the measuring area. Another familiar face greeted him as Harry hopped up on the stand.

"Hello," Harry said. "I'm Harry." He couldn't help but grin.

"I'm Neville," said the other boy. Harry never remembered Neville being so _small_. The Neville in his memory was the tall, proud Gryffindor that had pulled Godric's sword from the Hat and slew Nagini in the Battle for Hogwarts.

"Are you off for Hogwarts, too?" Harry held his arms out for Madam Malkin to measure.

"I am," Neville's answering smile was shy. "I got my letter and everything!"

"It's my first time here," Harry tried to catch his eye. Neville had been a brilliant Herbology professor and a dear friend.

"You're Muggle-born?"

"A Muggle-what?"

Neville blinked at him. "Your parents aren't wizards?"

"I don't have parents," Harry shrugged. "I live with my aunt and uncle."

"Oh," Neville chewed on his lower lip. "I don't have them either. Exactly. It's complicated. I live with my Gran."

"Do you live in the regular world or here?" Harry made a face as Malkin's measuring tape circled his neck.

"The regular world? Oh, you mean Muggle, no." Neville shook his head. "My Gran and I live in the wizarding world."

"Must be grand."

Neville shrugged. "It's all right."

"You're off to the train station tomorrow, right?"

"Yes, everyone is."

"How do you get there?"

Neville peered at him. "Hasn't someone been sent to explain it all to you?"

"No."

Neville scratched his head. "Well, for people outside of Diagon Alley, they go to King's Cross station and go through the barrier. But if you're here, you can just floo."

"Just what?"

"Merlin are you lost," Neville bit his lip. "Do you – where are you staying? Is your aunt here too?"

"I'm by myself. My aunt," Harry shrugged. "She said I could figure it out on my own."

Neville's eyes went huge. "That's not right."

"It's fine," Harry shrugged. "I'm staying at the Leaky Cauldron. Can you believe they rented me a room? It's wicked!"

"But…you're all alone."

"Yeah, my own room and everything," Harry grinned, trying to distract the boy. He had a headache starting to bloom behind his eyes. The corners of his vision were starting to fade in and out of focus.

"My Gran and I are staying at the Leaky Cauldron, too," Neville said. "Would you like to have supper with us?"

"I'd love to," Harry didn't have to force his smile.

"Measurements are all done, dear. What's your name, love, and your room at the inn? I'll have it sent over." Madam Malkin cut in.

"I'm in room four," Harry dug out his money. He caught Neville goggling at the bright glint of the coins. "How much do I owe you?"

"Three gallons, dear. Do come again!" Madam Malkin took the coins and slid them into her apron pocket. "Now, Mr. Longbottom, we've seem to have hit a snag…"

Harry chuckled as Neville's shoulders drooped. Harry slid out the door with a wave to the other boy, still feeling the rising tide of his headache start to beat in time to his pulse.

* * *

Harry let out a long breath, legs folded as he sat in the center of the bed. The curtains had been pulled shut. Hedwig's soft hoot came from her cage in the corner.

Harry struggled to clear his mind. The headache had exploded as he had paid for Hedwig; Harry had thought he was going to vomit all over the shop till. He had struggled back to his room, locking the door in relief, the darkness easing the edge of the pain.

This had never happened before. It seemed to be getting worse with each person and creature Harry had been reacquainted with. _Something_ had to be wrong.

_Paradoxes_, the ghost of Hermione's voice whispered. _There is always a price when you play with time_.

"Bloody hell," Harry blew out a noisy breath. He screwed his eyes shut and dove into the chaos of his mind.

The books Harry had read, years after Snape's failed Occlumency lessons, had described a person's mind as an ordered place. It could be cluttered, full to the brim, in a million different colors, shapes and sounds, but at the heart of all minds was order. It might be an order known only to the individual, but familiar patterns could be detected by a skilled Legilimens. Harry had discovered that his mind was made up of doors, each for their own particular memory or emotion. Snape's memories and mind had been full of water, of potions, bottles and dark, still places like the depths of an ocean. It was no wonder, looking back, why the man had been unsuccessful in teaching Harry. Their minds were too different.

Besides the fact that they had both loathed each other.

However, when Harry went into his mind, the chaos he was greeted with made no sense. Many of the doors to his memories were open, some all the way, others just barely. Some of the frames seemed cracked, the damage bleeding out into the wall around the trim. It hurt, physically hurt, for him to run a mental hand over the damage.

_What's going on_? Harry found one door, the top half of it still shut, the thick, steel locks plastered over the front keeping the rest of it in place. It was a red door. He knew the red doors were for the memories he never wanted to face, ever again. There were a lot of red doors in his mind. He had no wish to figure out what memory lay behind that one.

"Mr. Potter."

Harry jerked, eyes flying open at the soft voice. He flailed on the bed, trying to pull his wand. Mr. Ollivander caught his wrist, the deceptively frail body hiding a surprising strength.

"What – how – who –," Harry gulped down a breath. "Let me go!"

"It's grown worse, hasn't it, Mr. Potter?" Ollivander was seated on the edge of Harry's bed. Harry had never heard him enter.

"What – I don't – let _go_," Harry yanked at his wrist.

"The funny thing about time, Mr. Potter," Ollivander said. "Is that it hates to be meddled with."

Harry went still. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Ollivander smiled. "Now, now, Mr. Potter. We both know you do. Do you think I would not recognize such an old soul in such a young body?"

Harry's heart hammered in his throat. "You – I didn't…"

"The Crabbe family, oh three hundred years back, stole a very important item from me," Ollivander's eyes had the faintest luminescence. "I believe you are acquainted with it?"

"It was broken," Harry whispered.

"It was always broken, Mr. Potter. I dare say you're the first who has ever gotten it to work. Do you know why?" Ollivander cocked his head.

"No."

"It takes a sacrifice. A sacrifice of pure love, of blood, of death, to make it work." A sad smile touched the old man's face. "I believe you were all three."

Harry swallowed against the knot that had gathered in his throat. "Yes."

Ollivander let go of his wrist. "That being said, Mr. Potter, time is a harsh mistress. She does not appreciate your interference."

"I had to do _something_."

"And so you must pay the price."

Harry felt his nails cut into his palms. "What do I have to pay?"

Ollivander took a small breath and then slid off the bed. "You may continue as you are, the pain as your price. Or…"

"Or what?"

"Time does not like paradoxes, Mr. Potter. You could choose to wall away your memories and let time flow as it may."

"But I can't!" Harry sat forward. "They – they will all die! I can't forget, but…" He winced as a throb of pain flashed down his spine.

"Perhaps there is a way," Ollivander began, one long tapered finger tapping his lips.

"What way?"

"What would you do, Mr. Potter, to change the future? What would you sacrifice?"

"Haven't I sacrificed enough?" He didn't mean for it to come out so bitter.

Ollivander's expression softened. "Yes, Mr. Potter. You have suffered. I cannot argue with you there."

"Then _what_?"

"My family is intertwined with time, Mr. Potter," Ollivander's voice was soft. "What you aim to do is impossible, unless you are very, very careful."

Harry took in a sharp breath. "How? I have to stop Voldemort, I _have _to stop Hammerstein. I have to – I have to save them, _save_ –"

"Consider, Mr. Potter, very carefully. The changes you make in this time line have far more reaching consequences than just your efforts to _save_ the handful of people that you love."

"It's not just about them!" Harry retorted. "Thousands of people die – _more_. Hammerstein makes Voldemort look _sane_ in comparison! They both need to be stopped."

"And what would you sacrifice to make that happen?"

Harry glared. "I sacrificed myself once. Wasn't that enough?"

"But time will not allow things to happen a second time the same way when events have already been altered."

"…What do you mean?"

"Memories are dangerous things, Mr. Potter," Ollivander reached out and placed a paper dry finger on Harry's brow. "Walled away, your memories will not interfere in the time stream and thus you will never remember the quest you have charged yourself to undertake."

"Impossible," Harry ground out.

"Then you would pay the price to keep your memories and consciously change time itself?"

"_Yes_."

Ollivander gave a slow nod. "As you wish," he said. A brilliant light enveloped them. Harry cried out, pain streaking through his body in one, furious flash. Then he lay panting on the bed spread, staring up at Ollivander, who had his hand cradled to his chest.

"What did you _do_?" Harry tried to sit up and failed.

"Things change, Mr. Potter," Ollivander whispered. "The price for your second chance is this: all that you have done before you cannot replicate."

"I don't…understand."

"Your life must be different, Mr. Potter. The friends you make, the lives you save, all of it must be done differently, to appease the time stream. To save all that you love, you must choose a different way to shape your future."

"…_What_?"

"You shall see, Mr. Potter. The consequences will be dire if you attempt to replicate the results of your first life," Ollivander stepped back. "I shall always welcome you in my shop, Mr. Potter, if you have further need." Then the man seemed to…ripple, as if a small gust of wind had stirred the still surface of a pond and then he was gone.

"What," Harry said, staring at the vacant spot. "What the ever loving bloody _hell_ was that?"

* * *

An hour later had Harry no closer to an answer. Ollivander's words made no sense – Harry _had_ to be in Gryffindor. He _had_ to defeat Voldemort. To do that he needed Ron and Hermione and everyone else who had helped him.

Didn't he?

He sat with his head in his hands, the pain gone, but the memory of it still lingered. His thoughts were also…softer, if that could even be counted as a description. The memories of his life, his _future_ life, seemed almost…muted. Ollivander had _done_ something to him and Harry couldn't figure out what.

A knock interrupted the quiet. Harry jerked, yanking at his hair as his head came up. "Yes?"

"Harry?"

Harry stared at the door and then hustled over to open it. Neville and an older woman stood in the hall.

"Neville?"

"We asked Tom for your room number, I hope you don't mind," Neville's hands were twisted in his robes.

"No, no. Supper, right?"

"Yes, if – if you still want to?"

"Yeah, yes," Harry amended at the sharp look the older woman gave him.

"This is my Gran, um," Neville glanced over his shoulder.

"Augusta Longbottom," the woman inclined her head. The stuffed vulture on her hat looked like it was stooping on its prey.

"Harry Potter, ma'am."

They stared.

_Shit_, Harry bit back a sigh.

"You're Harry _Potter_?" Neville's voice rose to a yelp.

"Don't," Harry let go of the door and waved his hands. "I said my name in the bank, and everyone went _mental_."

Mrs. Longbottom had a hand clamped on Neville's shoulder. "May we come in, Mr. Potter?"

"Um, yeah, sure," Harry stepped aside. The room was neat enough, though the bed covers were rumpled from his flailing.

"You, you're _really_," Neville waved his arms. "Really?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Harry said. He had to keep reminding himself that prior to that day, he had supposedly never had contact with the wizarding world.

"You're the Boy-Who-Lived!"

"That's a stupid name."

Neville's eyes went huge.

"Silly monikers seem to run rife in our world, Mr. Potter," Mrs. Longbottom's tone was brisk. "What my Neville means to say is that you are the child that defeated You-Know-Who," she paused. "Voldemort." Neville flinched at the name. "He was an evil wizard that terrorized our world." Harry saw her fingers tighten on Neville's shoulder. "His henchmen did many horrible things. Voldemort killed your parents and would have gone on killing everyone who opposed him if you had not killed the man instead."

"I killed someone?"

"It is a well-known tale, now." Mrs. Longbottom's chin came up. "Voldemort came to murder your parents. He then turned a killing curse on you. It did not work and Voldemort was defeated. You were left with the scar on your forehead, the mark of your victory over the madman."

_And I ended up with a piece of his soul,_ Harry looked away. _You could always trust Augusta to be blunt and to the point._ "So that's why everyone went mental at the bank."

"Yes."

"Is it always like that?"

"Fools are fools the world over and all the time, Mr. Potter. You may trust, however, that you shall receive no such nonsense from me or mine." She gave Neville a sharp shake, spurring on the boy's agreement.

"Thanks," Harry stuffed his hands into his pockets.

"Shall we go?" Mrs. Longbottom let go of Neville's shoulder. "The food here is passable, but free with board. Tom's wife does make an admirable stew, at least she did the last time we were here…"

Harry gave Neville a grin and gestured for them to follow the woman. Harry was well aware that Augusta Longbottom was accustomed to getting her own way.


	5. Chapter Four

Chapter Four

Mrs. Longbottom rounded him up early the next morning, before Harry had time to duck out to Ollivander's shop. He had intended to interrogate the man as to what he had done, but Augusta Longbottom had other plans.

After a hearty breakfast that filled Harry to bursting, Mrs. Longbottom supervised his packing, reminding Harry a little of Molly Weasley and the way she had fussed over her children at the start of every school year. Once everything had been folded to her liking, Mrs. Longbottom hired porters for them, herded them down to the public floo connection and then to the train station.

"Mind your toad, Neville," Mrs. Longbottom reminded the boy as she instructed them on how to use the floo.

Neville went first, his ease with the magical transportation visible. Harry went next. He'd always hated traveling by floo. That was one of the reasons why he had gotten his muggle driver's license.

The rush of lights and sound was the same. Harry was spat out onto a public floo hearth. Neville helped him up before Harry could hold up the line.

"Thanks," Harry flashed him a smile.

The roar of the floo sounded again. Mrs. Longbottom's arrival was far more dignified than Harry's. "Come along," she gave a pointed glance to the porters standing by. "It is almost time."

Harry scrambled after her. Neville had his toad, Trevor, cupped in the pocket of his robes. Both Mrs. Longbottom and Neville had on regular wizarding robes – Harry had never been comfortable in them, no matter how long he wore them.

"Now, Neville," Mrs. Longbottom turned to her grandson. Harry stepped back, but watched the pair out of the corner of his eye. Augusta twitched Neville's collar and fussed with his hair. Neville was nodding to whatever she was saying, eyes wide as he stared up at her.

Harry let his gaze wander. A ripple in the crowd exposed a serene Narcissa Malfoy and Draco, standing together near the far wall of the station. Draco, too, was staring up at his mother, a wide smile spread across his face. Harry watched as Lucius Malfoy approached. Both the gentle expression on Narcissa's face, as well as the open happiness on Draco's, disappeared. Cold, arrogant masks slid into place. _Odd_, Harry cocked his head. He had always thought that Draco had adored his father above all else.

A familiar voice caused Harry to turn. Ron was waving his arms at the twins, face as red as his hair. Fred and George were howling with laughter, arms around each other. Harry felt his heart clench. George had never been the same after Fred had died. The surviving twin had fallen into the bottle for a while. Angelina had been the one to pull him out of it. The woman was probably the only reason why George had never committed suicide.

Harry took an unthinking step towards the raucous family. Pain slammed into his mind. He turned away, hand clamped over his mouth.

"Harry?" Neville touched his elbow. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine," Harry struggled to get out. He caught sight of Mrs. Longbottom giving him an odd look. He dragged his stomach under control. "We're about to leave, right?"

"Yes," Mrs. Longbottom said. She handed him a pair of tickets. "These are your stubs for the porters. They've taken your owl to the animal car. She'll be well taken care of. Your trunk will be unloaded at the school depot. It will all be taken care of," she made shooing motions with her hands. "You've both got your school robes, yes? Yes. Good. Now, onto the train. Neville, remember what I told you. Write to me as soon as you can." She clasped her hands at her waist. "It has been a pleasure, Mr. Potter."

"Thank you, Mrs. Longbottom," Harry returned, touched. Then he had to scramble after Neville as the train whistle screamed and students began to pour into the cars.

They found an empty compartment near the front of the train. Neville fussed over Trevor as students streamed past the glass and wooden door. Harry recognized a few of them. Percy, with his prefect's badge, Lee Jordan's dark dreadlocks, and a number of other students Harry could remember, but not name.

"What House do you think you'll be sorted into?" Neville asked. Harry pulled his gaze from the door and shrugged.

"How many Houses are there? What are they?"

"Well," Neville frowned. "See, there are four houses at Hogwarts. Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw and Slytherin." Neville made a face. "I hope I'm not sorted there."

"Why not?" Harry drew a leg up and hooked his arms around it.

"Well," Neville shrugged. "They're all – all the nasty sorts, you know."

"Are they?" Harry tried to remain neutral. Of all the things the war with Voldemort had taught Harry was that alienating people, just because of something as silly as a _label_, had done more to hurt them in the long run. Not all Slytherins were evil – Merlin, they were all _children_. They did what their parents told them to do, or what they thought they had to do, Harry shook his head and looked out the window. _What kind of advantage could we have had if we had stopped to just _think_ for a moment_?

"Hello?" A familiar voice said from the door. A weird not-pain pulsed through Harry's mind. "Could I join you?"

"Sure," Neville said.

Harry turned to see Hermione step into the compartment. _That was right_, he remembered. _Hermione had been helping Neville find Trevor when they had joined Ron and me._

Which, Harry realized, the toad was about to get away. "Trevor, Neville," he nudged the boy. Neville scrambled after the creature, catching him before Trevor could escape out the door.

_This wasn't how I met Hermione the first time_, Harry wiped damp palms on his trousers. _Is that why it doesn't hurt_? "I'm Harry," he said.

"I'm Hermione. Hermione Granger," she plunked her satchel down on the seat opposite him. "Isn't it all _fascinating_? I never even knew there was a magical world, let alone that I was a witch! I've already read the first chapters of our textbooks. It is simply _fascinating_."

"I'm Neville, ah, Longbottom," Neville had Trevor cradled against his chest. Harry picked up a wrapper that had fallen from his pocket.

"Drooble's Best Blowing Gum?"

Harry flinched as Neville snatched it from his hand. "That's – sorry," he bowed his head. "My mum gave it to me."

"My parents would never give me gum," Hermione said. "They're dentists, see."

Neville looked lost. Harry wanted to kick himself. He'd forgotten about Neville's mum.

Then Harry blinked and clutched at the armrest. He'd _forgotten_. He turned to stare out the window as the train chugged its way out of the station. Neville's hesitant questions and Hermione's constant chatter was white noise in the background.

Harry probed at his mind. The memories were…foggy. Not quite real, more like images from a dream. Harry tried to bring them into focus, to recall the image of the day they had been able to bring Albus home from hospital, and almost vomited.

"Harry!" Neville cried out as Harry doubled over.

"Should I go get someone?"

"No, I think –"

"I'm fine," Harry croaked out. "Please don't get anyone. I'm fine."

"But," Hermione knelt in front of him. She pushed a hand against his forehead, like he'd seen her do with Hugo and Rose, checking for fever. Harry almost slumped with relief. He'd remembered _that_ just fine, hadn't he? Maybe he wasn't losing the memories.

"You're Harry _Potter_," Hermione whispered, hand frozen on his face.

"Yes."

"You – you're – I read all about you in a bunch of books! You defeated Voldemort!"

Neville flinched hard enough for both of them to stare at him. "You shouldn't say his name," the boy shook his head. "It's bad luck."

"It's just a name," Hermione snatched her hand away from Harry's face. "There's no power in it."

"Actually," Harry blinked, sitting back. "There is. The more you're afraid of it, the more power you give it." He'd learned that the hard way, too.

"I'm not afraid," Neville frowned at them.

"Then say it," Hermione raised her eyebrows. "Voldemort, Voldemort, Voldemort. It starts to sound silly after a while."

Harry wanted to hug her. He didn't remember her being so brave, not in first year. But then again, he hadn't gotten to know her until after term had started and she had been pushed away by all of the Gryffindors, namely Ron, and made fun of. Harry frowned. _Had Hermione always been that strong_? Had their House been the one to make her doubt herself first?

"V-V-V," Neville looked half-scared and half like he wanted to vomit. "V-Vold-Voldemort," he said on a rush. He shuddered. "Don't ever make me say it again."

"It wasn't so bad, was it?" Hermione rolled her eyes and then turned back to Harry.

"You're really Harry Potter?" She asked.

"As far as I know," he said.

She frowned, opened her mouth, closed it and fidgeted with her skirt. "I'd read that you…lost your parents," she said, not meeting his eyes. "I'm sorry."

Harry saw Neville look away. "I've heard a lot of people lost loved ones," Harry murmured. Neville's hand closed tight over the gum wrapper.

"Well, good thing you got rid of him, then," Hermione gave a firm nod after looking back and forth between them.

Neville sputtered out a laugh. Harry grinned. He _liked_ this Hermione. She was like the woman she would become, more than a decade later, secure enough to ignore a ranting Ron and leave him to his shouts while the redhead burnt off enough steam so that they could have a proper conversation. Harry had never tried to intervene when Ron was in one of his rants – Harry had never understood how Hermione had put up with them for as long as she had.

"Have you read any of our textbooks?" Hermione jumped in to fill the threatening silence.

"No," Harry smiled. "Tell us about them?"

Hermione beamed at them both. It would take a herd of thestrals to keep her quiet now, he knew.

* * *

Harry didn't remember the ride to the castle being so long. The candy vendor had swung by twice – Hermione had been aghast at the amount of sweets on the cart. Harry and Neville had lunches from the Leaky Cauldron. The charmed boxes had kept their food warm and their drinks cold. Harry had let Hermione try the pumpkin juice. She had been intrigued.

They were not bothered for the entire ride. Harry had tried to remember as much as he could about his first time on the train; he knew Draco had barged in at one point, just after Harry had made friends with Ron. It had been a definitive point for Harry, impetus to _not_ be placed in Slytherin, on top of all the bad mouthing Hagrid had done to the House on top of it.

But what was he supposed to do now? Harry had been floored by his attempt to go meet the Weasleys. His head had felt funny when Hermione had joined them – but had not hurt. Was that what Ollivander had meant, when he said Harry would have to do things differently this time around? Did that mean he had to give up Ron and the Weasleys and his _children_?

He shook off the thoughts as they piled off of the train. He lost Neville in the crowd as Hagrid herded them towards the boats. He climbed into one, Hermione right behind him. The boat rocked again. Harry turned, expecting Neville.

Draco Malfoy stared back at him instead.

"Wooden _boats_?" The aristocratic nose turned up. "How plebian."

Hermione twisted around to face him. "Do you even know what that means?"

"Of course I do."

"Then what's it mean?"

Draco sniffed. "We should have had carriages. The other students get better service. I don't see why we have to ride in these dinky, stupid boats."

"You don't know what it means, do you," Hermione folded her arms over her chest.

"Shut up," Draco spat.

"You're _rude_."

"I'm not rude. Malfoys are never _rude_. You're plebian."

"There you go again. It means to be common."

"I was right, then."

"It's not an insult!"

"My father says it's an insult," Draco had stuck his nose in the air. "So it's an insult."

"Your father is _wrong_," Hermione retorted. Harry just sat back, taking it in. "Aren't I right, Harry?"

"Harry?" Draco sat forward. "As in Harry Potter?"

"Yeah," Harry arched an eyebrow.

"_You're _the Boy-Who-Lived?"

"I'm getting that a lot today."

Draco stared. "What?"

Harry shrugged. "What's your name?" He asked instead.

"I'm Malfoy, Draco Malfoy," the blond said.

Hermione giggled. Draco rounded on her.

"Think my name's funny, do you? I don't recognize you at all, you must be a mudblood."

Hermione paled. They didn't need to be told it was an insult, Draco's tone said it all.

"Hey, now," Harry snapped. "Don't call her that. Her name is Hermione Granger, and I bet she's smarter than you by _loads_."

Draco scowled at them. "My father says Muggles are useless. All their kind is good for is breeding more Muggles."

"Then your father is obviously _dumb_," Hermione rallied. "Since _I'm _sitting here, the product of two Muggles and _I'm_ a witch."

"Don't call my father dumb! He's a powerful wizard!"

"A _stupid_, powerful wizard, _maybe_."

"Hey!" Draco's hands balled into fists. "I'll hex you!"

"I bet I know more hexes than you," Hermione snarled right back.

"You're just a mudblood!"

Hermione hit him. It was a solid smack to the shoulder, but Draco reeled back as if she had been at him with a hammer.

"I'll _tell_," Draco sputtered.

"Tell what, that a _mudblood_ _girl_ hit you and you were too much of a wet blanket to fight back?" Hermione's bushy hair bristled around her face.

"You're _mean_."

"You're _stupid_."

"Am not!"

"Are too!"

"Am not!"

"Are too!"

Harry pinched the bridge of his nose. "I think you should apologize," he said to Draco. The blond gaped at him. "I thought people in the wizarding world were supposed to be better than this," he sighed. "I bet Mrs. Longbottom would never act like you or your dad."

"My father," Draco said stiffly. "Knows everything."

"Does he know how to drive a car?" Hermione shot back.

"What's a car?"

"Does he know how to fly a plane? Can he work a television?"

"What's _that_?"

"I bet all he knows is how to be nasty to people," Hermione scowled at Draco, hands balled into fists.

"He is not nasty!"

"You're acting like little kids," Harry cut in. "Both of you," he added to Hermione. She huffed.

"I'm not apologizing," Draco looked mulish.

"You should," Harry said, letting his gaze drift out over the water. "Muggles know loads of stuff that wizards don't. They can do things most people think are impossible, without magic. Calling them mudbloods is ridiculous. Magic has nothing to do with _blood_," he made a face. "Magic is in a person when they're born. That's all."

"But…"

"No."

"My father…"

"Is wrong," Harry said. "Lots of people are wrong, about a lot of things." He shrugged. _Maybe I'm laying it on a bit thick, but damn it, Draco. Bloody well listen for once!_

Draco had two pink spots high on his cheeks. "Wizarding kind is better than – than," he glanced at Hermione. "_Muggles_." He still had a hand over the spot where Hermione had smacked him.

"No one is better than another," Harry tried again. "Unless they're trying to hurt other people. Then they're just evil and cruel."

Confusion washed over Draco's face. They were interrupted before the other boy could come up with another protest.

"Look at the castle!" Hermione breathed, breaking the moment.

Harry turned. They had caught sight of it on the path down to the boats, but it had been nothing like the vision in front of them. The many turrets thrust up into the clear night sky. Warm yellow light spilled from the hundreds of visible windows. It rose up above them, gray stone and wood, set against a field of glittering stars.

"It's beautiful," Hermione whispered.

Harry saw Draco bite his lip and glance at him, before turning to Hermione. "Sorry," he bit out.

Hermione sputtered, turning to the other boy. "What?"

"I _said_, sorry."

Hermione's eyes narrowed. "About what?"

Draco's jaw took on a stubborn cast. "I'm sorry I called you a – name," he flicked at glance at Harry. "But Muggles _aren't_ better than wizards at _all_."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "I never said they were."

"You implied it."

"I did not."

"Did too."

"Did not."

Harry shook his head and sighed.

Hermione and Draco were still squabbling as they were rounded up out of the boats. The two of them were behind him as they climbed the worn granite steps. Hagrid led them to a massive oak door. Its hinges were as big as Harry's forearm.

"Everyone here?" The giant patted at his pockets. There was a general murmur of assent. Hagrid turned and raised one gigantic fist, giving the solid wood three solemn knocks.

The door opened.


	6. Chapter Five

Chapter Five

"The firs' years, Professor McGonagall," said Hagrid.

"Thank you, Hagrid. I will take them from here." Professor McGonagall looked much the same as the last time Harry had seen her. She seemed so _tall_, he realized, to his eleven-year-old self. Her hair was still dark, not streaked with white as it had become at the end of the war with Voldemort. Years of having her as his teacher, and as his Head of House, made it possible for him to see through the stern mask she had adopted. She did it every year, he remembered. _James had been petrified of her_. Harry had to blink fast and look down.

They shuffled after McGonagall into the entrance hall. The vast space was lit by flaming torches along the wall. The moving staircases were still as they made their way to a closed door to the right. He could hear the roar of voices even through the thick wood. They were ushered past the main entrance into a small, empty chamber off the hall. They had to crowd into the space; Draco and Hermione were shoved in next to him. A good elbow to Draco's side got the blond to be silent. Glaring, but silent.

"Welcome to Hogwarts," said Professor McGonagall. "The start-of-term banquet will begin shortly, but before you take your seats in the Great Hall, you will be sorted into your houses. Your house will be like your family within Hogwarts; you will have classes with the rest of your house, sleep in your house dormitory and spend free time in your house common room.

"The four houses are called Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw and Slytherin. Each house has its own noble history and each has produced outstanding witches and wizards. While you are at Hogwarts, your triumphs will earn you house points, while any rule-breaking will lose house points. At the end of the year, the house with the most points is awarded the House Cup, a great honor. I hope each of you will be a credit to whichever house becomes yours."

Harry had to bite his lip to hide his smile. The first year's speech hadn't changed a bit.

"The Sorting Ceremony will take place in a few minutes in front of the rest of the school. I suggest you all smarten yourselves up as much as you can while you are waiting," her gaze swept over the crowd. Harry saw her linger on Ron and Dean. "I shall return when we are ready for you," she said. "Please wait quietly." She left the chamber with a swish of her robes.

"How do they sort us into the houses?" Hermione nudged Harry. "Do you think we'll have to take a test? I've not been able to read all our books yet!"

"We don't have to take a test, stupid," Draco snorted.

"Don't call me stupid!"

"You're _being_ stupid."

"Then how are we sorted, mister know-it-all?"

"It's a _ceremony_," Draco rolled his eyes. "You mu-Muggles are so _weird_."

"Enough," Harry cut in before they could start shouting. Again.

"Harry!" Neville had shoved his way through the crowd. "There you are."

"Neville," Harry grinned at him. "Still have Trevor?"

"Right here," Neville patted his pocket. There was a distinct toad-shaped bulge.

"You have a _toad_?" Draco wrinkled his nose.

"My Great-Uncle Algie gave him to me," Neville put a protective hand over his pocket.

"A _toad_."

"There is nothing wrong with a toad," Hermione snapped.

"Except its distinct inability to fly, deliver letters, packages or anything else remotely useful," Draco rolled his eyes.

Harry had to bite back a laugh. There, right there, was the cutting humor Harry had grown fond of later in life. As an adult, Draco had the skill of withering humor down pat – Harry had seen the blond in the halls of the Ministry ripping down his political opponents with relish, all the while making the crowd around them howl with laughter. Harry had not always agreed with Draco's tactics – and whom he verbally attacked in public – but Harry had to admit that the man had had talent with words.

"But I _like_ Trevor," Neville said.

"Well, then, good for you," Draco poked Harry's side. "You don't think toads are useful, do you?"

"Toads are useful," Harry shot him a look. "Just like cats and kneazles and owls and everything else that can be used as familiars. They all have their strengths and their weaknesses." He caught Hermione's appraising look and winced. _I probably shouldn't have said all that_.

Draco snorted. "Oh, _be_ logical then."

"Thank you, I shall."

"What's a kneazle?" Hermione asked.

Harry jumped when several kids began to scream. He whirled, hand going for his wand, heart thumping in his ears. People had screamed like that when – when…

"Harry?" Draco touched his arm. Harry flinched away.

"What?"

"It's just the ghosts," Draco frowned, reaching for Harry's arm. "You look awful."

"It was just a start."

"You're not sickly, are you?" Draco pulled away.

"He's not sick," Hermione snapped.

"I'm fine," Harry said. "Look," he pointed. Ghosts had streamed in through the back wall. Pearly-white and slightly transparent, they glided across the room talking to one another with hardly a glance at the first years. The familiar argument about Peeves washed over Harry's ears. He struggled to tame the rush of adrenaline that had spiked through his body.

"The ceremony is about to begin," Professor McGonagall's voice made them all turn. The older witch raised her eyebrows at them. "Form a line and follow me."

Harry ended up first of his little knot, behind Dean. Ron was a few bodies ahead of Harry. Draco had elbowed Neville aside for the spot behind Harry. Neville and then Hermione had formed the rest of their part of the line.

McGonagall led them into the Great Hall. Like the first time Harry had seen it, his breath caught in the back of his throat. The four long tables were filled with hundreds of students. Above them hung a forest of lit candles. Above that was the ceiling, a field of twinkling stars.

"It's bewitched to look like the sky outside. I read about it in _Hogwarts, A History_," Hermione's loud whisper carried to his ear.

Harry dragged his attention back to where Professor McGonagall had placed the familiar stool and Sorting Hat. It twitched, coming to life amid the gasps of the first years. Then it began to sing. Harry had forgotten about the song. He bit down hard on his lip. _The Hat can see into my thoughts_, he wiped sweaty palms off on his robes. Draco had edged up to him again.

"We have to put that thing _on_?" The blond sounded horrified.

Professor McGonagall stepped forward, a long roll of parchment in her hands. "When I call your name, you will put on the Hat and sit on the stool to be Sorted," she said. "Abbott, Hannah!"

Harry's attention wandered up to the head table as the list of students was read out. Dumbledore looked serene, eyes hidden behind his half-moon glasses, fingers tangled in his beard. Quirrell was there, but Harry cut his gaze away before his scar could twinge. Snape still sat next to Quirrell, as greasy as ever, dark hair long and stringy and –

_Merlin_, Harry blinked, peering at the Potions Master. _He – Snape looks so young_.

The humor wasn't lost on him.

Of course, Harry watched as Hermione jammed the Hat on her head. _Of course, I was almost of age with the man when I – when it all_…Harry forced his gaze to the ground. _The git loved Mum_, he reminded himself. _And Mum – Mum was his friend. For a long time, before he was a bloody idiot. There had to have been something good in him, once, right?_

He snorted, shaking his head at Draco when the blond looked his way.

The Sorting went as Harry remembered. Hermione went to Gryffindor, as did Neville. Malfoy didn't swagger his way up to the Hat this time, though, and the Hat sat for a moment on his head before calling out, "Slytherin!" Draco shot Harry a triumphant look, which puzzled him. Then, McGonagall read out, "Potter, Harry!"

Harry stepped forward as whispers broke out over the hall. He tuned them out as he settled onto the stool, the Hat slipping down over his eyes.

"Well, my, my," said a familiar voice in his ear. "You are full of surprises, Mr. Potter."

Harry took a deep breath. _I need to be in Gryffindor,_ he thought at the Hat. _You can see my memories and know why_.

"Time travel," the Hat sounded gleeful. "By my brim, of all the things I've lived to see. But, oh, my, oh my," the Hat's tone went soft. "I…see. Yes, Mr. Potter. I do see."

_Then you'll put me in Gryffindor. And you won't tell Dumbledore?_ That had been one of his main concerns. Harry loved the old wizard like a grandfather, but he knew Dumbledore's ways. The old wizard believed what he was doing was for the best of the wizarding world. If he believed Harry was going to cause a time paradox, what wouldn't Dumbledore do in his belief of what was right? Love for Harry or no, Dumbledore would Obliviate Harry at best. Harry didn't want to consider anything worse.

"You have a great many good points, Mr. Potter," the Hat said. "Yes, I believe you are right. Dumbledore is a great man, but men are human," the Hat chuckled. "And are therefore fallible. Do remember that, Mr. Potter."

"Gryffindor!" The Hat called out, before Harry could question his last statement. Harry handed the animated creature back to McGonagall, noting her fierce, small smile.

Harry slid into a spot between Hermione and Neville. The other boy was grinning ear to ear. "Well done, Harry!"

_You have no idea_, Harry managed a weak smile for him.

"Isn't it fabulous?" Hermione tugged at his arm. "This whole – it's all – it's fabulous!"

Harry twisted around to look at Draco. The blond stuck his tongue out at Harry and then grinned. Harry huffed out a laugh. _Why is Malfoy so different_? He rolled his eyes at the other boy and stuck his tongue out back. It felt silly, actually _acting_ like he was eleven again, but…nice, too.

The last of the Sorting was wrapped up with Zabini being placed into Slytherin. The dark skinned boy slid into place next to Draco.

Harry turned his attention to Dumbledore as the man gave his short, odd speech. Harry wasn't sure, but it felt like the old man's gaze had rested on Harry a moment too long. Harry turned away, even knowing he was too far away for Legilimency, but he wasn't willing to risk it.

The appearing food didn't startle him this time around. He let the wash of talk at the table slide over him as he pushed his potatoes around his plate, thoughts running around in similar circles.

He needed to practice his Occlumency, enough so that Dumbledore believed his mind to have a natural shield. Harry could _not_ risk being Obliviated – too much rested on his shoulders.

But what if someone _did_ get through? Harry ducked as the twins tossed a roll at Ron. The few times Harry had been unable to control his shields were when he was asleep or being tortured. While the chances of the later were few at the moment, he did have to sleep, didn't he?

_One thing at a time_, he forced himself to take a few bites of steak as Hermione began to frown at him. Harry wasn't going to stuff himself again, not like he had, the first time. He'd had to vomit it all up, later. It was worse this time around, too, since he'd been on bread and water since the incident with Aunt Petunia.

"Oh, food," said a voice next to Harry's plate. "I miss you so."

Harry jerked back as Nearly Headless Nick rose up through the table. The ghost looked just as Harry remembered him, starched ruff and all.

"You're a ghost," Hermione said, eyes huge.

"Yes, indeed, I am! I am Sir Nicholas de Mimsy Porpington, at your service, my lady," Nick rose up enough to give an elaborate bow.

"That's Nearly Headless Nick," said one of the older students across from Harry. "Don't mind him."

"I would _prefer_ you to call me Sir Nicholas de Mimsy -"

"Nearly Headless," Hermione pointed at him with her fork. "How can you be _nearly_ headless? You either are, or you aren't!"

"Like this," the ghost snapped. He seized his left ear and pulled. It was as gross the second time as it had been the first. Harry made a face and looked away.

"So – new Gryffindors!" Nick continued, looking pleased by Hermione's squeal and Neville's green tinge. "I hope you're going to help up win the house championship this year. Slytherins have got the cup six years in a row! The Bloody Baron is becoming almost unbearable. He's the Slytherin ghost."

Harry looked over to the Slytherin table. The Bloody Baron was right next to Malfoy, who straightened up when he saw Harry looking. Draco pointed at the ghost, then to Nick. Harry rolled his eyes at him, but nodded.

"How did he get covered in blood?" Seamus leaned forward, eyes on Nick.

"I've never asked," said Nick.

Harry took a slice of pie when the desserts appeared, despite Hermione's scolding.

"You should have had more dinner!" The bushy haired girl looked torn between grabbing a dessert and being virtuous.

"I bet wizards have charms to keep cavities from forming in their teeth," Harry glanced at her, biting back a smile.

"Oh," Hermione's eyes went big. "Well, in that case…"

Harry heard Ron's laughter from a few seats down. He was wedged in between Seamus and Dean. "I'm a half and half," Seamus was saying. "Me dad's a Muggle. Mom didn't tell him she was a witch 'til after they were married. Bit of a nasty shock for him."

"I'm their brother," Ron pointed at the twins. "I've got a baby sister at home, too, but she's such a brat!"

"Oh, icckle Ronnikins," said George.

"Shall we," said Fred.

"Tell Mum?"

Ron sputtered.

"What about you, Neville?" Seamus turned to them.

"Well, my Gran brought me up," Neville said, glancing at Harry. He gave the other boy a smile and a nod. "But the family thought I was a squib for ages. My Great-Uncle Algie kept trying to catch me off guard and force some magic out of me. He pushed me off the end of Blackpool pier once. I nearly drowned – but nothing happened until I was eight. Uncle Algie dangled me out the window after dinner one night and accidentally let go. But I bounced!" Neville beamed. "All the way down the garden and into the road. Gran was so pleased. Great-Uncle Algie got me my toad as a present."

"That's awful!" Hermione cried.

Neville shrugged. "It was an accident. Great-Uncle Algie never meant to really _hurt_ me."

"How about you, mate?" Seamus turned to Harry. Harry sighed as the looks of rabid curiosity sprang up around them.

"Well," he scratched the back of his head. "I turned my teacher's wig blue, once."

Laughter erupted around him. Harry felt the hairs on the back of his neck stir. He glanced up at the head table. Snape was watching him. Harry bit back a sigh. Snape's class was going to be awful. Harry made a face at the carcass of his apple pie; he hadn't been able to eat much of it, after all.

Snape had never liked Harry, and the feeling had been mutual. Harry had never understood the man's ability to hold onto a grudge – but, Harry had to admit, the man _did_ have a good reason. Harry had never agreed with Dumbledore's handling of Snape and the Marauder's pranks – not that Snape hadn't done his best to make their lives miserable as well. But, the bullied part of Harry's soul had to point out, it had been four against one and the Marauder's pranks had always been on the vicious side. Sure, Harry might not have liked Snape, but no one should have been punished after almost being torn to pieces by a werewolf, at least not like Snape had been. Still. Just because he empathized with the man didn't mean Harry had to like him. Not in the least.

Harry kept quiet all throughout the school song and Dumbledore's dire warnings about the third-floor corridor on the right hand side. Harry and the rest of the House followed Percy out of the Great Hall, past the talking portraits and through a few of the well-known passageways.

But none of that gave him an answer to his dilemma. What was he going to do about Snape?

The question followed Harry into sleep, safely ensconced inside Gryffindor Tower, the only home he had ever, truly, loved.


	7. Chapter Six

Chapter Six

Harry had always been an early riser. Aunt Petunia had demanded that he make breakfast every morning – earning his keep, as she liked to call it, so Harry had grown used to waking up before the rest of the house.

Harry eased out of bed, a bundle of Dudley's old clothes under his arm and headed for the bathrooms to get ready for his first day of classes. The first year's dormitory was exactly as he remembered it: five beds to a room, each a four-poster canopy, with thick maroon and gold curtains that could be pulled closed. Harry had Neville, Ron, Seamus and Dean as his roommates.

Harry had been waiting for his head to start throbbing all the while they had been settling into their room. But Ron had been busy chatting up Seamus, asking the Irish boy all about the muggle technology he had grown up with. Harry had had a long, cold moment when he'd spotted Scabbers in amongst Ron's things. He knew, intellectually, there was little he could do about the rat at the moment. That did little to still the deep desire to blast the bloody animagus to kingdom come.

The boys, aside from Neville, had been a little distant with Harry – he wasn't sure if it was because of his name or something else.

So, Harry had been blessed with no pain that evening, but also for no way to make friends with Ron.

_Is this another price I have to pay_? Harry thought as he settled in front of the banked hearth. The dormitory bathrooms were a madhouse in the mornings, another reason to get up early. Ron had never managed it, always trying to sleep until the last minute and then rush to breakfast and class.

Harry let out a soft sigh. He would have to find a way to make friends with Ron, later. He had more pressing matters to deal with, at the moment.

Harry closed his eyes and tried to even out his breathing. He dove deep, to where the memories of his past, the future, were buried. They were foggier, to his dismay. But he could still pick out specific memories, if he concentrated. As long as he did not try to _force_ them into focus, then he could experience them without pain.

Taking a mental step back from the imaginary hallway that held all the doors to his memory – or at least that _part_ of his memory, he amended – Harry looked around. There were several new hallways he had never seen before, each filled with the memories of his new life. They seemed to be split down the magical, muggle divide. All his memories of his life with the Dursleys were down one corridor. Hogwarts, Diagon Alley and all the rest were down another.

Harry had never read of something like this happening before. Then again, there weren't any accounts of successful time travel either, or at least to his knowledge. He would have to be careful and go slow. The last thing he needed was to muck it all up before he could even get started.

Which led him back to the hazy memories. If he tried, perhaps he could camouflage them? One of the books on Occlumency had spoken about misdirection being one of the easiest forms of defense.

Harry eyed the long hallway. He squinted at the top arch, imaging a plaque that read _Dreams_ on it. It flickered in and out of existence and then appeared, burnished silver on an obsidian background. Harry frowned at it – that hadn't been his mental image, and then shrugged. The piece of Voldemort's soul had been shoved down that hallway, behind a crimson door, with locks bolted from top to bottom. Harry wasn't about to let Voldemort influence him at _all_ this time around, but he didn't think it was Voldemort who was mucking about with his imaginary interior design. _Probably just my subconscious._

"Harry?"

His eyes flew open as he gasped. Hermione stood in front of him, a concerned expression on her face. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine!" Harry put a hand over his heart. "You scared me."

"I was calling your name for a while."

"Oh," he ducked his head. "Sorry. I was…thinking."

She dropped down onto the seat next to him. "About what?"

He shrugged. "Lots of things," he evaded. "We get our schedules today, right?"

Her expression went from concerned to elated. "Yes! I can't wait. Did you look over your books like I told you?"

Harry snorted. "No."

"But you _should_ have! We have so _much_ to learn. Come on, get your books and we'll –"

"It's our first day, Hermione," Harry had to laugh. "How about we wait until we see what our schedules are like and then we'll study."

Her expression fell. "Oh. Oh, I…sorry. I'm always," she shrugged, her face going red.

"I don't mind," Harry was quick to say. He didn't want to hurt her feelings. Not again. "But we should wait until we know which classes we have on which days, you know?"

"Would you," Hermione twisted her hands in her lap. "Would you like to be homework partners? People never wanted to be part of my study groups back home, but I'm _sure_ the wizarding world is different, since there is so _much_ to learn and it's all pertinent to our lives and –"

"I'd like that," Harry said.

She beamed at him. "Really? Maybe we can get all of the other first years to join and it could be like a _club_."

Harry ducked his head to hide his smile. "Yeah, let's try. I'm sure Neville would join."

Hermione clapped her hands together. "I've got to make plans! A schedule, maybe a roster? If we made it an official club, do you think we'd have to ask permission from Professor McGonagall?"

"Let's wait until tonight and announce it. See who's interested," Harry stretched, cracking the vertebra in his neck. "I'm starving. Do you think they'll have breakfast ready yet?"

"I don't know. Let's go see if we can find the Great Hall," Hermione jumped to her feet.

"Let me go get Neville," Harry said. He escaped before Hermione could protest. He didn't want Neville waking up to find Harry gone. It felt…wrong. Neville was his first friend, this time around. Harry had vowed to be a better friend to everyone with this second chance. He meant to keep that vow.

* * *

"There are a hundred and forty-two staircases," Hermione said. "I read about it in _Hogwarts, A History_. Pass the bacon, please."

Neville handed the platter over with wide, glazed eyes. "A hundred and forty-two?"

"They don't always lead to the same place, either!" Hermione's energetic nod made her halo of bushy hair sway. "Some only operate on Fridays, some even have missing _steps_."

"That sounds…dangerous."

"Many of the doors are also charmed to be animate. We'll need to figure out how to open each one and some even need _passwords_," Hermione said the word with relish. "It's all so fabulous! We have so much to learn!"

Neville made vague agreeing noises, while Harry chuckled into his oatmeal.

Harry had let Hermione lead the way to the Great Hall, stepping in only once when they were about to detour into the restricted hallway. He didn't want to appear like he already knew the castle – which he did, and in far more detail then he would like to let on. On their way they had passed a scowling Filch who was holding an animated conversation with Mrs. Norris about torturing the first years in his dungeon – a conversation that had caused Neville to stumble and Harry to catch him before the other boy could fall.

"I didn't think they were allowed to do that," Hermione had said, a touch pale.

Professor McGonagall had handed them their schedules as they sat. There were a few other, older Gryffindors up and at the table. Hufflepuff's area was empty, while the Ravenclaw table was full of students eating and studying at the same time.

"_They're _studying," Hermione had pointed out.

"They're Ravenclaws," Neville had shrugged. "It's what they _do_."

"But…"

"They're also older than us," Harry had stepped in. "They already know what to expect."

That had silenced Hermione for a minute. Barely.

"We have a study period, first thing," Hermione continued, after taking the bacon. "Then Charms with Professor Flitwick. Then lunch. After lunch we have Herbology with Professor Sprout, in the greenhouses. Greenhouses? Oh, we'll have to find those after lunch. I wish I had a map!"

Harry's spoon hitched on its way to his mouth. _The Marauder's Map_, he blinked into the distance. If he wasn't friends with Ron, then how would he get to know the twins and thus get the map when he needed it most?

_Bloody Ollivander_, Harry frowned at his oatmeal. _Bloody time paradoxes_.

"We have our schedule," Hermione was saying, with a pointed glance at Harry. "_Now_ can we go get our books and review?"

Harry had to laugh, both at the typical Hermione response and at Neville's dismayed expression.

They passed a knot of Slytherins as they left the Great Hall. Harry saw Draco in the crowd. He waved before he thought about it – and the way Draco's expression lit up was amazing.

_I wasn't thinking_, Harry cast a look over his shoulder as they left the hall. _I keep thinking it's the Draco I got to know as an adult, not the prat he is, now. But…_Harry chewed on his lip, following the others back to the dormitory. _But what if, this time, I can get him to think for himself? Could I save him, too? Not, _he snorted_, that the Malfoys ever _needed_ to be saved, except from their own ambition, but_…

He shoved the thought aside to ponder later.

Hermione bullied them to get their books and meet her in the common room. Harry just smiled and went to get his – Hermione had become very close to Harry, especially after they had both married into the Weasley clan. Harry had not appreciated her as he should have when they were younger, he acknowledged. Without her help, he and Ron never would have found the Horcruxes, let alone _survive_ their quest. Hermione was a practical, brilliant witch, if a little bossy at times, he grinned. But her foresight had saved them more than once. He meant to be a better friend to her, as well. He wouldn't take so much for granted, either, this time around.

He had been lucky, Harry mused later, sitting through their first magic lesson. Flitwick had still squeaked and toppled over on his stack of books when he'd read off Harry's name. They had the class with the Hufflepuff first years, whom had all been staring at Harry from the moment he'd sat down, Hermione on one side, Neville on the other.

Yes, he had been lucky, he mused as Flitwick started his first year's speech. Harry had coasted along on Hermione's coattails for a lot of the time, only putting in effort at Defense Against the Dark Arts because it had interested him. Later on, his lackadaisical attitude towards study in school had come to bit him on the rear – Aurors had to be well versed in _all_ areas of magic, not just hexes and curses. Harry had almost failed Auror school because of the gaps in his knowledge. Again, Hermione had been the one to save his hide, sending him a detailed, rush study plan from her make-up year at Hogwarts. Harry had opted straight for the Auror program, rather than take retake his final year at Hogwarts. It hadn't been the best decision of his life, but he'd gotten through it, barely. Again with Hermione's help.

This time, he was going to study. This time he would pay attention and do well in class – or at least try, like in Potions. He wrinkled his nose at the thought. Snape would still hate him, but maybe if Harry showed a little aptitude, he wouldn't be as nasty.

_And pigs would fly without the aid of magic_, he ducked his head to hide his grin.

After Charms came lunch and then Herbology. For the first time Harry noted Hermione looking a little lost, while Neville was the one that was at ease. _Was Hermione always this nervous about Herbology_? Harry scratched out a note on his parchment as Professor Sprout gave them their reading assignment. _I never thought Hermione was nervous about any subject._

"Should we make the announcement about the study club now or after supper?" Hermione asked as they made their way back to Gryffindor Tower.

"After supper. Everyone will be back in the dormitory then," Harry said.

"Are you sure this is a good idea, though?" Neville asked. "I mean, a study club would have a lot of members, yeah? How would we all _study_, if we're all talking to each other, or were you thinking about it like we'd run a – a class lesson or something?"

Hermione's face went pink. "I – _no_," she blinked fast. "But, um…"

"We'd probably break up into groups," Harry offered. "So we wouldn't get distracted? And if one group was confused about a topic, they could ask others."

"Yes!" Hermione brightened. "That's perfect. We'll do that."

"You'll be in my group, though, right? The two of you?" Neville glanced between them.

"Sure," Harry shrugged.

"You – you'd want to be in my group?" Hermione's eyes were wide.

"Oh, yes," Neville said. "I wouldn't have had a clue of what to do in Charms if you hadn't gone over the first chapter with me."

The tip of Hermione's nose went pink.

But Hermione's grandiose ideas of a study club for the first years died a fiery death that evening.

Ron was the first to start laughing. "Why'd we want to join a _study club_?" He snickered. "Go on with ya. You should have been sorted into _Ravenclaw_," Ron rolled his eyes, making a show out of it. Dean snickered and started to heckle the idea as well.

"Hey, now. There's no need for that," Neville jumped up before Harry could intervene. Hermione's face was beet red and as she turned away from a honking Ron, Harry could see the tears in her eyes. "Hermione's idea is a good one. We'd do better in class and then we'd have a chance at winning the House Cup!"

"We don't need some bookworm to help us win the House Cup!" Ron tugged at Dean's arm. "Come on. I'm all schooled out. Let's play Exploding Snap!"

"But," Neville protested. The rest of the first years lingered for a moment and then dispersed.

Harry bit down on his lip, risking a glance at Hermione. She was wiping her face with the sleeve of her robe and muttering to herself. Neville turned to him, expression miserable, and shrugged.

"Well," Harry kept his voice quiet as he stepped up to her side. "We don't need a club to have a study group, do we?"

"W-what?" Hermione sniffed. Her nose was bright red.

"We can still study together, right?" Harry herded them to an unclaimed area of the common room. A table with a few lamps seemed like the perfect place to study.

"B-but," Hermione gulped down a breath of air. "You – you'd still want to?"

"Of course we do," Harry glanced at Neville. The boy nodded vigorously. Hermione wiped at her face again.

"Even though," she bit her lip and looked over at Ron and Dean, who were still laughing and pointing their way.

"Yes," Harry said. "Even though."

Hermione blinked fast a few times. "I – I need to get my books."

"You and Neville go. I'll hold the table until you get back."

Hermione nodded and hurried off for the girl's dormitory. Neville gave Harry a relieved smile and went to get his own books.

"Oi, you're not really joining that stupid study group, are you?" Ron called. He got up and ambled a few steps towards Harry. "You're the Boy-Who-Lived! You don't need to study, mate," Ron's easy smile was the one Harry remembered. Ron – Ron was a good man, Harry reminded himself. A Gryffindor through and through, not like Harry's Gryffindor with a side of Slytherin.

"Yes, I do," Harry met the incredulous stare. "How else am I to do well? I've not grown up in the wizarding world. Besides," he caught sight of Hermione coming down the stairs. "It's a good idea if we all got good marks. It'll help the House in the long run."

Ron made a face as if he'd sucked on a lemon. "Not you, too. I thought you'd be a _real_ Gryffindor, not a Ravenclaw."

"I am a true Gryffindor," Harry couldn't help the dry tone. "I got sorted here, didn't I?"

"Took the Hat long enough," Ron muttered, but turned away with another eye roll as Hermione marched up to Harry's side, eyes narrowed in a fierce glare.

"Any problems?" she asked, back straight and stiff.

"None," Harry gave her a lopsided smile. "Hold the table. I'll get my things." He left before she could answer.

* * *

Later, safe in his bed with the curtains drawn, Harry folded his arms behind his head and stared up at the shadowed ceiling.

_Was Ron always that…mean_? He stifled a sigh. Ron, looking back, had always been…opinionated. He judged first and held a grudge as good as Snape. Had they become friends at first because Ron hadn't known who he was? But, no, Harry frowned. Ron had found out pretty fast who Harry was on the train. He hadn't seemed too awed, then.

But, Harry had to admit, Ron did have a jealous streak in him when it came to Harry's fame. It burned a little to remember some of the gigantic rows they'd had in the past about it. But Harry had clung to Ron, he realized. Ron had been his very first friend, after Dudley had kept everyone else away. Harry would have done _anything_ to keep that friendship. He'd even sided with Ron, that other first week of school, when Hermione had tried to warn them about sneaking out for the duel.

_Merlin_, Harry choked back a laugh. That duel. He'd completely forgotten about it. Draco had been such a _prat_, he grinned up at the ceiling. He wondered how it was going to play out this time around.

His smile faded when he remembered that still left him at odds with Ron. Harry sighed and curled up on his side under the covers. He'd find a way to become Ron's friend again. He winced as a twinge of pain pinged through his head. Maybe not the same way, he amended, but they could become friends again.

Right?


	8. Chapter Seven

Chapter Seven

The next day they had Transfiguration first thing after breakfast. Neville got up with Harry, confessing through the foam of his toothpaste that his Gran was an early riser and had demanded that Neville be one, too.

Hermione had her Transfiguration book with her as they tromped down to breakfast. Harry and Neville sat on either side of her as she read over the chapter, asking questions and reading the passages she pushed at them.

Transfiguration was shared with the Ravenclaw first years. They could only seat two to a desk, so Harry urged Neville to sit with Hermione and took the desk behind them. The Ravenclaw students had come in with them – and Harry found himself sharing a desk with a familiar face.

"I'm Terry Boot," the boy said with a smile.

Harry choked down a laugh. _I know_, he wanted to say. "Harry Potter," he offered instead.

"I know," Terry was arranging his books and parchment on the desk. "I've read about you."

_You worked with me_, Harry wanted to tell him. _You dragged me to my miserable flat after the divorce papers were signed, and I went drinking. You were my partner in the Auror division for years. You tried to defend me when I refused to hand over all the Dark artifacts I found to the Ministry. You almost lost your job over me. You died defending a wizarding elementary school, and I wasn't there to help you_.

"Not everything you read is true," Harry said after a moment. Terry gave him a scandalized look and was about to respond when Professor McGonagall entered the room.

She swept to the head of the class, gaze picking out the empty places at the desks. "Transfiguration is one of the most complex and dangerous magics you will learn at Hogwarts," she began, her hands clasped tight at her waist. "Anyone messing around in my class will leave and not come back. You have been warned."

That was when Ron and Seamus spilled in through the door. Both were red-faced and out of breath. Professor McGonagall's expression turned dark as they slid into the empty desk at the back.

"I will not tolerate tardiness in my class," she said with a stern frown. "One point from Gryffindor for each of you."

The rest of the Gryffindors groaned, but McGonagall's sharp glance silenced them. Harry turned his attention to his book and notes as the professor turned her desk into a pig and back again. Harry's hand began to cramp by the time he finished scrawling down his notes – Terry's were far longer and in more detail and the boy was still writing. _Ravenclaws_, Harry bit back a grin.

By the end of the class, Terry, Hermione and Harry were the only ones to make progress on turning their matchsticks into needles. Harry could have done it without a thought, as an adult. He came to the abrupt realization, though, as he ran through the familiar process, that his magic was much more wild than it had been when he was an adult.

_Is it because of the piece of Voldemort inside me_? Harry frowned at the matchstick. His magic felt…rough, almost, where it used to feel smooth. _Or is this because of the time travel_?

"Well done, you three," McGonagall said as the class bell rang. "One point for Ravenclaw, two for Gryffindor. You are all dismissed. Your homework is on the board."

Harry made note of it, letting the others slide out of class ahead of him. Hermione was full of excited chatter as they made their way to their next class.

History of Magic was shared with the first year Slytherins. Harry took a seat in the very back, prompting Hermione's scowl and scolding. He refused to move, though, and Hermione gave up with a huff. Neville slid into the spot next to her, with a bewildered stare at Harry, in the desk in front of him.

"Hello, Potter," Draco's voice came from behind him. Harry slumped down in his seat as he caught sight of Crabbe and Goyle flanking Draco.

"What happened to Harry?" He volleyed back to the boy.

Draco's arrogant expression cracked for a moment. "You two sit over there," he pointed. Then he slid in next to Harry, despite how Crabbe and Goyle gaped.

"Do you always boss your friends around like that?" Hermione twisted around to face them.

"They're not my friends, Granger," Draco ground out through clenched teeth.

"What happened to Hermione," she cut back at him.

"I _never_ called you that."

"No, but I remember what you _did_ call me."

Draco's hands curled into fists. "_Look_, you –"

"Attention, attention," came a dusty voice. Harry gave Draco's ankle a kick. He didn't miss Ron's furious glare at the blond, or the way several of the Slytherin students were watching them.

As Binns started his first droning lecture of the year, Draco leaned into Harry's side and whispered, "Why are you still associating with her? There are pure bloods in Gryffindor. You should associate with your own kind."

Harry clenched down on his first and second immediate reactions. "What's a pure blood?" He feigned ignorance instead, also keeping his voice at a whisper.

Draco gave him a scandalized look. "A wizard whose parents and family are both magical."

"There's a difference?"

"Of course there's a difference."

"How?"

Confusion washed over Draco's expression. "What do you mean, _how_? They're just – they're just – just – better!"

"How?"

"They just _are_."

Harry gave him a long look from over his glasses. "Do you always just accept what other people tell you?"

"Of course not!"

"Then how are pure bloods different?"

Draco opened and closed his mouth a few times. "Well, they're raised properly," he managed.

"By whose definition of properly?"

"What?"

"Besides the way they're raised," Harry held onto his patience with teeth and toenails. "What's the difference? We've all got magic, yeah? We're all able to do spells. So what's the difference? Doesn't seem like there is any, to me."

"No talking!" Binns called. "Or there will be house points taken!"

Harry sat back for the rest of the lesson, reading from his textbook as Draco fumed next to him. The blond stalked away as soon as the bell rang, making Crabbe and Goyle run to catch up with him. Harry caught Theodore Nott's appraising look as Harry gathered his bag and headed out the door with Hermione and Neville for lunch.

Their last class of the day was Defense Against the Dark Arts. Harry had been dreading the class all day. He took a seat at the back again – this time Hermione didn't fight him on their seating arrangement. The whole classroom reeked of garlic; the stench grew stronger the closer one got to the front, where Quirrell's desk sat.

They also shared this class with Ravenclaw. Terry stole the seat next to Harry once again – it felt a little like being back in Auror school with Ron and Neville – and Harry hid a smile. The humor soon vanished as Quirrell began to take attendance – Voldemort was there, right _there_ in front of him. Harry had to close his eyes and uncurl his hands from the tight fists he had made. _There is no way to kill him now_, he had to remind himself. _Be patient. You'll find a way to end him. You just have to be patient._

Harry kept his head down for the rest of the class, even as Seamus began to quiz the man on his travels and his turban. Harry was the first out the door when the period bell rang.

_I'll find a way to end him_, he thought as he took a deep, clean breath of air. _Somehow I will_.

* * *

"So, the Boy-Who-Lived is friends with a Malfoy?"

Harry sighed. He turned to see a furious Ron standing near the couch in the common room, hands clenched at his sides. Harry had been expecting this outburst since he'd seen Ron glaring at him during their History of Magic lesson.

"I wouldn't say we're friends," Harry shrugged. "But, yeah. I talk to him."

"_Why_? He's a Slytherin! His whole family worships You-Know-Who, everybody knows it. They're all a bunch of evil gits!"

_You're almost right_, Harry cocked an eyebrow. "Everybody knows it? Just like everybody gossips about everything else around here?" _Come on, Ron,_ Harry wanted to shake him. _Use your head_.

"You're a Gryffindor, he's a _Slytherin_," Ron shouted, face flushing. "We're not supposed to be friends!"

"Why not?"

"Because!"

"Because why?"

"Because – because – just _because_. They're evil. We're good. That's just how it _is_."

_And thus, the problem_. "They're evil? Really, you know this for a fact?" Harry crossed his arms over his chest. "They're _eleven_, just like us. No one is anything right now, except for being students and sometimes," he gave Ron a glance over his glasses. "Bullies."

"You – you – you're supposed to be on _our_ side," Ron flailed.

"Mate," Dean stepped forward, putting a hand on Ron's shoulder. It got shrugged off. "Come on, Ron. Things are never that simple."

Harry let out a breath. Dean had always been one of Harry's supporters, albeit a quiet one. He had been a good man, too, Harry wanted to smile. _Married a Muggle girl and lived close to his family in London. He worked in the Ministry as part of the Relations with Muggles department_.

"They _are_ that simple," Ron was saying. "People are good or they are _bad_. That's – that's _it_."

"So, when your brothers make fun of you and hurt your feelings, does that make them evil?" Harry asked.

"What? No, of course not."

"But you just said bad was evil. Making someone feel awful is pretty bad. Making them _cry_ is even worse, wouldn't you say?" Harry cocked his head as Ron's face took on a deeper, embarrassed flush. "And since you just equated being _bad_ as being _evil_, then by your own words, you and your brothers must be evil." Harry was playing dirty and he knew it, but he had to get Ron to see _reason_.

"Take that back you – you wanker!" Ron lunged. Harry danced out of reach as Dean and Seamus got a hold of him and dragged Ron up the stairs.

"You know," said Fred from the door. George leaned up against him.

"Little Ronnickins,"

"Doesn't mean,"

"To be a prat," the twins said together.

Harry let out a breath and faced them. "I know that," he said. The twins were protective of their siblings and Harry knew he was treading on thin ice. "But things are never just one way or the other. The world isn't that simple."

"You're a strange little kid," said George. "Are you sure you're not a changeling?"

"A golem in disguise?" said Fred.

"A garden gnome charmed big?"

"Oh, maybe a kneazle turned human!"

Harry had to laugh. "No," he said. "I'm just me. Just Harry."

"Just Harry," George murmured. For a moment, he was as serious as Harry had seen him since Fred was alive. Harry closed his eyes for a moment and had to look away.

"A very strange kid," said Fred. Harry jerked away, eyes flying open when he realized the twins had crept up on him.

"Did you know," George said.

"Sometimes you,"

"Get all pale,"

"Like you're about to sick up,"

"When you look at some people?"

Harry met a pair of curious eyes. "Yes."

"A strange little kid," Fred said, again.

"I'm Fred," said George.

"And I'm George," said Fred. They stuck out their hands for Harry to shake.

"Right," Harry smiled, but shook them anyway.

"Don't mind Ron. We'll talk him around. It's about time he learned some stuff," Fred clapped Harry hard on the back. "Take care, now!"

Harry rubbed at the sore spot on his shoulder as the twins galloped their way up the stairs. _Odd,_ he thought as he watched them go. _Is this how we'll get to be friends, this time around?_ Harry bit back a wishful sigh and went over to the study table Hermione had claimed. Both she and Neville were watching him with wide eyes. He shrugged it off and pulled out his books.

_Ron is and always was a stubborn ass,_ he flipped open to their homework. _He'll have to come around in his own time_.


	9. Chapter Eight

Chapter Eight

Wednesday started with a double Charms lesson, then lunch. Studying with Hermione was paying off, for several reasons. Harry had no idea he had missed so much during the first classes at Hogwarts the first time he attended them – he had always been sneaking notes with Ron and not paying enough attention to the practical demonstrations Flitwick went over. If Harry had been bothered to pay attention, he realized he would have had less problems later on in class, due to incorrect wand placement.

"No, like _this_," Hermione nudged Neville's wrist into the proper position.

"But I thought that _was_ the right way to hold it."

"No, see? You have to have your hand at a forty-five degree angle. Then, _flick_."

"What's a forty-five degree angle?"

Hermione made a small, frustrated sound.

Harry hid his smile from them and worked his way through the charm. Another reason that studying with Hermione and Neville came in handy was with his magic. It was so…_rough_, still. Going over and over the lessons and coursework made each passing charm or incantation easier, the magic a little more smooth.

_No wonder childhood magic acts as wildly as it does_, Harry mused as they tried to make their quills move across the desk. _It has no structure at all. Going to school and learning all this stuff really does make a difference in the long run_.

After lunch was another Herbology lesson. Harry was comfortable enough around the plants for Professor Sprout to leave him alone. Hermione was next to him. Neville was at ease, helping Seamus distinguish between the plants and the weeds. Ron and Dean were further down the beds, the Gryffindor girls between Ron's occasional glare and Harry's back.

_I wish he'd learn how to let things go_, Harry stifled a sigh. He knew Ron would work through his anger. He always had, before. _But this isn't before, _Harry had to stop as pain flashed through his head. Hermione gave him a concerned look, but he shook it off.

Astronomy at midnight was more fun than he remembered. Professor Sinistra had charmed the top of the tower to keep them warm and to cancel the effect of the wind so their telescopes wouldn't shake. The late lesson still made getting up for McGonagall's Transfiguration class difficult in the morning.

Draco still wasn't speaking to Harry during their History of Magic lesson. Harry was a little concerned to see friction between Draco and his pair of sycophants, even though he had no love for either Crabbe or Goyle. Harry had not mourned Crabbe's death in the Room of Lost Things or Goyle's later arrest for the murder of his wife and life sentence to Azkaban.

_Perhaps it's a good thing,_ Harry thought as Draco left the classroom by himself, neither Crabbe nor Goyle hurrying after him.

Harry woke Friday morning with butterflies in his stomach. _Double Potions with Snape_, he thought. He spent extra time that morning trying to put up his best mental shields. With Snape he would have to tread a careful path between seeming to be a natural talent and clueless at the same time. The moment the git realized Harry had training of any sort, the bit would be between his teeth and Snape would tear down Harry's walls like he was dissecting a potions ingredient.

Harry had his battered textbook with him all through breakfast.

"All right, now," Hermione was saying. "Name five of the ingredients used in the first chapter," she quizzed Neville.

"Um," the boy blinked at his plate. "Um. There's…it's…there's, um…"

"Don't panic, mate," Harry said, munching on his toast. He glanced up as the mail arrived. Hedwig had been a daily visitor. Harry knew he was spoiling the owl with bits of toast and bacon, but he couldn't help it. That morning, however, she fluttered down between the marmalade and the sugar bowl, dropping a note onto Harry's plate.

_A note_? Harry frowned at the untidy scrawl. _Who would – Hagrid!_

_Harry_, it said. _I'm Rubeus Hagrid, the Keeper of Keys here at Hogwarts. I was supposed to pick you up for school, but your Aunt got you squared away all right. I was a friend of your parents – I was wondering if you'd like to stop in and have a cup of tea with me around three?_

Harry blinked at the message. Then Hermione was pushing a quill into his hand and nudging his shoulder. Harry scrawled off an affirmative and gave it back to Hedwig – when he glanced over Hermione was beaming at him, but Neville wouldn't look up from his plate.

"You'll come with me, right?" Harry blurted out. Hermione looked shocked, as if he had to ask. It was Neville's shy reaction that kicked Harry in the stomach.

"If – if you'd like us to," Neville glanced up at them and then away.

"Yes," Harry was vehement. Neville ducked his head, but Harry thought he saw a small smile. _Maybe Hagrid can tell Neville some stuff about his parents, too_, Harry bit his lip, hard.

Then it was time for Potions. The familiar dungeon classroom was creepy and cold as ever, filled with floating ingredients in glass jars and the stark stone walls that always seemed damp to the touch.

Snape, like Flitwick, started the class by taking the roll call, and, like Flitwick, he paused at Harry's name.

"Ah, yes," Snape said, voice soft. "Harry Potter. Our new _celebrity_."

Ron and Seamus started to snicker a few rows back. Harry ducked his head, keeping his eyes on his desk. _Snape's a git, _he tried to control his breathing. _But he has some redeeming qualities. Remember the good stuff. You get to hex a boggart of him later._

"You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion-making," Snape began as he finished the roll call. "As there is little foolish wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic. I don't expect that you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shining fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through the human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses…I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death – if you aren't as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach."

Harry had to bite his lip to keep from laughing. He'd forgotten about Snape's speech. Harry chewed on his lip. _Snape…really did love Potions_, he took a deep breath. _He loved – _loves_ Potions, _Harry amended. _Maybe this time around I can help Snape out, too. For Mum's sake_.

"Potter!"

Harry jumped, head snapping up. "Sir?"

Snape was in front of Harry's desk. Harry hadn't noticed his arrival. "What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"

Harry made the mistake of looking into the man's eyes. The glittering, dark gaze held a mix of anger and guilt. Harry looked away.

"It's," Harry bit his lip. _Oh, bloody hell. Not this again_. There had been an example used in the first chapter, hadn't there?

"Well?" Snape barked.

"Draught of Living Death!" Harry blurted out. It had been in the _footnotes_, he remembered.

Snape's eyes narrowed. "Well, well, looks like you can read," Crabbe and Goyle sniggered. "Where would I look to find a bezoar?"

The footnotes. "The, um," Harry said. "The stomach of a goat." He didn't mean to inch down in his chair, but Snape was a _tall_ man and Harry had never been comfortable with people towering over him.

"What is the difference, Potter, between monkshood and wolfsbane?"

Harry opened his mouth, but his mind went blank. "Um," he cringed back as Snape leaned forward. Merlin, but the man could scowl. "They're, uh, in the same…family?" Damn it, he'd just _read_ about them, why couldn't he remember?

"Clearly fame isn't everything," Snape sneered. "They are the same plant, for your information. Two out of three would get you a pass in most classes, Potter, but not here. Potions in an _exact_ science. _All _the steps must be correct, not just some." Snape spun away, but did not take points. Harry glared at the man's back.

Snape then had them pair up and set them to brewing a simple potion to cure boils. Harry had Dean as a partner. Hermione and Neville were at the desk behind them. Harry did most of the chopping while Dean weighed out the dried nettles. _It's a lot like baking_, Harry thought as he crushed the snake fangs. _You have to be precise about what you add and how much or the cake will go sideways_.

The thought made Harry relax a little. He'd always liked to bake. Ginny had thought he was so odd, to do all the cooking. She had liked it, though, not having to deal with the mess. Harry had always thought of it as a fair trade off, since she had had the children, and kept up her career in Quidditch, and then reporting, after. Her jobs had always been more intense than his, even as an Auror. Harry had wanted to make things easier for her, as much as he could.

_Little good that ended up doing me_, Harry shoved the thought away as Hermione's sharp cry drew his attention. Clouds of green smoke and a loud hissing rose up from the desk just behind Hermione. Ron and Seamus' cauldron had melted into a twisted blob and their potion was seeping across the floor, burning holes in people's shoes. Within seconds, the whole class was standing on their stools while Seamus, who had been drenched in the potion when the cauldron collapsed, moaned in pain as angry red boils sprang up all over his arms and legs.

"Idiot boy!" Snape snarled, clearing the spilled potion away with one wave of his hand. "I suppose you added the porcupine quills before taking the cauldron off the fire?"

Seamus whimpered as boils started to pop up all over his nose.

"Take him up to the hospital wing," Snape spat at Ron. "Your brothers are at least passable in my class. Clearly you don't have an ounce of sense _or_ talent. Go!"

Harry opened his mouth to defend Ron, but Dean elbowed him and shook his head. Ron's face was beet red as he herded Seamus out the door.

"That's five points from Gryffindor for idiocy," Snape snarled. "Now, finish up!" He spun on the rest of the room. Harry forced his head down. He'd see how Seamus and Ron were, later.

They escaped Potions without anymore points lost or gained. Harry made a face as they climbed the stone steps. Snape had sneered at Harry and Dean's potion, although Harry could have sworn they had brewed it right. Theirs had the same clear color as Draco's, who Harry did have to admit, had had a talent with Potions, even later on in life. Why the man had never gone on to teach…

"Well, that could have gone worse," Neville muttered as they made their way to lunch. "At least we survived."

Harry had to concede the point with a laugh.

At five to three, Harry gathered Hermione and Neville and headed down to Hagrid's small wooden house that was built just on the edge of the Forbidden Forest.

A crossbow and a pair of galoshes were outside on the stoop.

When Harry knocked they heard a frantic scrabbling from inside and several booming barks. Then Hagrid's voice rang out. "Back, Fang – _back_!"

Hagrid's big, hairy face appeared in the crack as he pulled the door open. "Hang on," he said. "_Back_, Fang." He let them in, struggling to keep a hold on the collar of an enormous black boarhound.

There was only one room inside. Hams and pheasants were hanging from the ceiling, a copper kettle was boiling on the open fire and in the corner stood a massive bed with a patchwork quilt over it. Harry took a deep breath and closed his eyes for a moment. _Yes_, he let out a breath. _Hagrid's hut_. He turned to face the man. Hagrid's bushy beard was still dark and the man's eyes were as cheerful as Harry could remember.

_ I won't make you carry my body back, this time,_ Harry promised the man. _I'll find some other way to kill Voldemort. I promise_.

"Well, er," Hagrid smiled at them, scratching the back of his head. "Hello there, Harry. Make yerselves at home," he let go of Fang, who bounded straight to Hermione and Neville, trying to douse each of them with slobber and licks.

"This is Hermione and Neville," Harry nodded at his friends as they sat. Hagrid busied himself with pouring the tea.

"Eh, nice ta meet ya," he said, then squinted at Neville. "My, yer Frank and Alice's son, ain'tcha?"

Neville's eyes went wide. "You knew my parents?" He bit his lip and glanced at Harry. "Also?"

"Yer parents were great friends with each other," Hagrid said. "Ain't no one told ya?"

Harry and Neville shook their heads. _ I had no idea_, Harry felt a little breathless.

"Well, that's a shame," Hagrid sat back after handing out their tea. Harry kicked Neville's ankle before he reached for a cake and shook his head. Harry remembered those cakes. So did his teeth.

"You said you knew our parents?" Harry asked.

"Well, yes, yes I did," Hagrid said. "Las' time I saw yeh, yeh was only a baby. Yeh look a lot like yer dad, but yeh've got yer mom's eyes."

Harry had to look away.

"James and Lily were head boy and girl at Hogwarts. It was dark days, back then," Hagrid took a slurp of tea. "Frank and Alice were Aurors, some of the most popular. Damn shame what those lunatics did to them, er," Hagrid coughed. "Sorry, and all."

Harry caught Hermione peering at Neville, but the blond boy wouldn't look up from his tea.

"Yeh look a lot like yer mom, Neville," Hagrid offered.

"I know," Neville whispered.

"Did you go to school with our parents?" Harry cut in. He could see Neville blinking back tears.

"No, no. I've been working the grounds here at Hogwarts since before they came." Hagrid beamed at them. "Got the position from Dumbledore himself!"

"You live here, on the grounds?" Hermione asked.

"Oh, yes. I do a lot of the hunting for the kitchen, yeh know. And I take care of – eh, never mind," Hagrid ducked his head.

"What were our parents like?" Harry asked. "What can you tell us about them?"

"Well, I'm sure yer aunt told you loads," Hagrid scratched at his chin.

"No. She didn't tell me anything."

"_Nothing_?" Hagrid's ruddy face turned dark. "They didn't tell you anything about yer mom or dad or – or what they did – or –"

"Aunt Petunia said they were drunk and died in a car crash," Harry forced his voice to stay even. He ignored the wide-eyed looks Hermione and Neville were giving him. "That's how they said I got this scar." He touched his forehead. "I didn't know anything until my letter came."

"They never said? But that's – that's – I should have gone ta pick yeh up like I had planned, but," Hagrid's fuzzy brows were drawn down into a scowl. "Dumbledore needed me to pick it up and I _could_ have done both, yeh know – and…."

"Pick what up?" Hermione asked.

"Nothing. Ain't never picked nothing up," Hagrid yelped.

"But you just said you picked _something_ up," Hermione insisted. Harry hid a smile. It was one of her preferred tactics as an adult to diffuse situations. Pester with questions until everyone was calm again.

"I – I…" Hagrid floundered.

"Did our parents know each other at school?" Harry intervened.

"Ah, no. After. Both yer parents were Aurors, yeh know. Good Aurors, top notch. It was why…" Hagrid trailed away, glancing between them.

"My parents were tortured by the Lestranges," Neville said into the silence. "I visit them," he told Hermione.

"Oh," she said, voice soft.

Harry leaned into Neville's shoulder.

"Er, more tea?" Hagrid offered.

Hermione accepted, eyes bright. Harry let her fuss over their cups as he picked up the newspaper cutting that was laying on the table under the tea cozy.

_Gringotts Break-In Latest!_

_Oh, yes,_ Harry scanned the article. _The Stone._

"Someone tried to rob Gringotts?" Neville read over Harry's shoulder.

"It happened the day after my birthday," Harry pointed at the date.

"Your birthday is July thirty first?" Neville asked.

"Yes."

"Mine's on the thirtieth!" Neville looked delighted. "Our birthdays are back to back and you're my first friend here at Hogwarts!" Red spots bloomed on his cheeks. "Er…"

"You're my first friend I've ever had," _this time around_. He didn't look at them. "Maybe it was fated."

"Your first friend?" Hermione asked.

Harry shrugged. He looked up to see Hagrid blowing his nose with a spotted handkerchief and wiping at his eyes. "Oh, that's just ducky, just ducky," he snuffled.

"You were going to pick something up on the thirty-first?" Harry asked, trying to be casual. Hagrid grew flustered.

"No, a'course not. More tea?"

"I wonder what they were looking for," Neville frowned down at the paper.

"If it was only one vault it must not have been money. Maybe an object?" Hermione guessed.

"Wasn't!" Hagrid yelped. "I mean, er, not that I know anything about it." He shrank in his seat. "Oh, I shouldn't have said anything."

Harry let the matter drop as Hagrid tried to drag their attention away from the clipping with questions about school. It would be enough, for now, Harry decided. _Hermione has a vague idea in her head that something is going on. I can work the rest out later. _They left the house with rock cakes weighing down their pockets and an invitation to come back as often as they liked. Harry intended to.


	10. Chapter Nine

NOTE: I'm pretty mean to canon!Ginny this chapter, FYI. Will probably be read as Ginny-bashing. I apologize in advance.

* * *

Chapter Nine

"It is too better!"

"Is not!"

"Is too!"

"Football is a _proper_ sport!"

"Quidditch is a _proper_ sport! At least it has more than one ruddy ball and we _fly_!"

"Take that back!"

"I will not!"

"You're an idiot! Football is the best sport in the world!"

"Is not!"

"Is too!"

"Is not!"

"Is too!"

"Good lord," Hermione snapped. "Would you two argue elsewhere?"

Ron whirled on her. "You shut your trap, you big know-it-all!"

"Hey," Harry tensed, pushing his chair back.

Ron spun back to Dean. "And _Quidditch_ is the only proper sport there _is_!"

"Is not!"

"Is too!"

"Let's go to the library," Neville suggested, head in his hands.

"We'll not be able to study here, not with this silly ruckus. You're going to get in _trouble_," Hermione told the boys. Ron shot her a dirty look, but continued his row with Dean.

"My cousin Dudley likes Manchester United," Harry offered. Dean snorted.

"West Ham is better. You'll see. One day they'll take the top of the table and shut all those other gits up." Then he launched right back into his row with Ron.

Harry doubted Dean's optimism, but then again, Harry's knowledge of the English Premiere League was foggy at best. He had been a Manchester City fan before, back when he'd had no idea that people could play sports on flying brooms. Dudley and Uncle Vernon were Manchester United fans, but Harry sometimes thought that they rooted for the team more because people expected them to have a favorite team rather than they actually enjoyed the sport.

Harry, Hermione and Neville ducked out of the Gryffindor common room before Ron and Dean could come to blows. The library held a fair number of students for the weekend. Harry saw that most of them were upper year students – probably already studying for their OWLs and NEWTs.

They settled in at one of the long, empty tables. Madam Pince's sharp eyes watched them get settled and then turned back to her book.

* * *

Harry spent most of Saturday night thinking and trying to remember. _The last time_, Harry squinted at the ceiling, _the last time I – oh, Merlin. I was convinced Snape was trying to steal the Stone, which I know isn't true,_ he sighed. _All I have right now is that _something _was stolen from Gringotts, that Hagrid moved it before it could be taken and that's it. It's not like before, when I actually _saw_ the thing. _Harry rubbed at his eyes. _I guess I could wait until Quirrell makes his move, but_, he bit his lip. _This is when Dumbledore first learns he can trust me. And he _can_,_ Harry glared at the ceiling. _I might not be the wide-eyed kid I once was, but I want everyone to live. I'm just…more sensible about it, now_.

Harry ran a hand over his face. _Merlin, I'm a fool sometimes. I have to do _something_, don't I? Before the memories get even foggier._

The mental 'fog' had been getting worse throughout the week. Harry wanted nothing more than to storm down to Ollivander's shop and demand some answers. Then common sense would kick in and Harry knew he was stuck. The memories weren't…fading, exactly, but they weren't crystal clear either. He still had screaming nightmares more often than normal dreams, but that was what silencing charms were for.

_James, Albus, Lily_, Harry felt his eyes prick with tears. _How do I save you, now? How do I even make sure you are born? _One of the foggy red door memories cracked open, but Harry shoved it closed. He knew that memory. He didn't – he couldn't…

He shuddered as the door banged open and the memory bloomed in his mind, foggy around the edges, which cut the heartache, but not by much.

_"What are you on about?" Harry remembered shouting. "Ginny – wait, please!"_

_ "This is useless!" The redheaded witch had been in tears. "Everything is useless!"_

_ "But – Ginny, please, please," Harry had reached for her. She'd slapped his hand away. "Why? Is this about me losing the department head position? It'll blow over, Gin, I swear. I just, I couldn't –"_

_ "No, this isn't about you losing your _job_," she had snapped. "And yes," she added after a breath. "It is. You – you're just –," her bags were packed, cluttering the hall. "You – I've spent fifteen years of my _life_ on you, Harry Potter!" _

_ "I – but I – what do you _mean_? Is this, is this about the – the baby, what…"_

_ Her face had darkened. "You are _useless_," she had stabbed a finger at him. "Three miscarriages, Harry. Three."_

_ "But – I – we can get _over_ it, Gin. Do you – we could go to St. Mungo's, or – or –"_

_ "I've _done_ my duty for this wretched excuse for a family. I bore children to give you heirs, I even put up with your inability to _use_ your name to further our prospects, your _stupid_ insistence on never using your fame, but _no more_," Ginny tossed her head, eyes glittering with tears. "I'm leaving. I deserve a life with someone I can love. A life with someone who understands ambition and who has a drive to be something more, something _better_."_

_ "But I love you – what do you _mean_?"_

_ "I don't love you, Harry. I don't know if I ever did at all," Ginny had said. "I'm taking the children. We'll be staying at the Burrow."_

_ "No," Harry had snapped then. "You will _not_ take my children."_

_ "They're not yours, you stupid fool," Ginny had shouted. "They never were! I've never carried a child of yours to term! I've been having affairs for years, Harry! Ever since the first one we lost and you started working overtime because you couldn't be arsed to make a publicity deal or anything else _remotely_ useful! I'm _through_, Harry! I am through!"_

Harry pulled out of the memory with a shudder. He hadn't – Merlin. He hated that memory. _When had things gone so wrong, between us? There had been arguments, yes, but never – never like…_ The row had lasted for another hour, with Ginny spitting out one hateful truth after another. Harry had put his foot down and Ginny had left, threatening lawyers to sue for the custody of _his_ children. James, Albus and Lily had overheard it all, he'd found out later, having come home early from a friend's house. Harry had tried to shelter them from it, had tried to pass it off as their mother having a small breakdown, as needing a vacation, as _something_ to keep his children from looking so devastated. He had sworn to them that no matter what, blood or not, he was their father, he would _always_ be their father and nothing, _nothing_ would ever change that.

Then Ginny had returned a week later with law wizards and paternity spells. She had threatened to take every penny he had, the house, everything, if he didn't give up his claim for custody. Her ammunition was the fact that the children weren't his – and he knew she was half a step from going to the papers with a tell-all that would bury him under bad press and the tabloid coverage he so hated. _She was so mad at me,_ he scrubbed at his eyes. _ And I never found out why_.

James had been devastated. He had not wanted to go. Albus and Lily had clung to Harry while the law wizards explained that as children of Ginny's flesh, she had complete and total control over where they would live and how much time Harry got with them. He had had to give his children – they were _his_ children – up to wizarding law. Molly and Arthur had been the ones to step in, later, and let Harry come over as much as he could to see his kids. Even as Ginny dragged the proceedings into the public courts, Molly and Arthur had never kept Harry from his children. Harry didn't know what kind of arguments were going on in the Weasley household and he hadn't much cared – Ron wouldn't talk about it, and Hermione had been kept out of the loop, too. It seemed that it was a Weasley blood matter, and not for outsiders, even those married into the family. His best friends were having their own rough time of it, he'd later found out, but Harry had been neck deep in his own troubles, too blind to anything besides his children and their misery.

Then the attacks came, Ron and Hermione had died and Harry had a new enemy to fight. He had still gone as often as he could to the Burrow, even as his name and reputation had taken a turn for the worse. Arthur had stopped trying to reconcile Harry and Ginny by that point, but Molly had never given up. Harry – would have reconciled, he acknowledged. If only for his children. But Ginny wouldn't hear of it, going off with a string of professional Quidditch players and being noticed in the press, at least she had, before the second war began. After, Harry had rarely seen her at the Burrow and had never asked his children where their mother was. Harry had tried to keep them together as a family and had meant to keep that promise.

_Then things fell apart_, Harry rubbed a shaky hand over his eyes. _I _told_ Ginny to take the kids and run. Why hadn't she listened? Hadn't she believed me? Why were the children left at the Burrow _alone_? Or did something happen? Was she attacked on her way home? Why…why…_

He turned onto his side and curled up under the covers. He would never get the answers to those questions. Now he just had to make sure he would never have to ask them in the first place.

* * *

Monday rolled around far too fast for Harry's liking. The flying notices posted in the common room caught everyone's attention.

"With the Slytherins?" Ron made a face. "Well, at least _one_ of us will be happy about that," he shot Harry a glare.

"Flying," Hermione blinked. "Oh, _flying_." Harry looked at her. Her eyes were a touch wider than normal. "I – I'll have to – do you think there are manuals about it? Guides? Oh, we'll need to go to the _library_."

"Fat lot that will help you," Ron snorted. "_I've_ been flying for ages. I almost hit a hang glider once on Charlie's old broom!"

"Mate! You too?" Seamus chortled. "I think me mum had me flying before I could walk!"

Ron and Seamus and a few of the older years began to offer stories, each better than the last, about their escapades on a broom.

"You think they'll have guides in the library?" Neville asked from Harry's side. "I – I've never been on one. Gran didn't want me to."

"We'll go look for one," Harry assured the other boy, keeping his voice down as Dean and Ron picked up their epic row about sports yet again. "We're bound to find something."

That something was _Quidditch Through the Ages_. Harry let Hermione take over – she was always the better organizer – and settled back with his homework. He already knew how to fly. _Loved_ to fly. It was a good thing he had been a natural from the start.

They were in the library yet again. It had become their de facto study area, since the common room was too noisy over the weekend and no one else seemed keen on joining their study efforts. Even if they _had_ managed to win Gryffindor five points in their first week of classes.

Another thing they found in the library was Draco Malfoy. Or rather, he found them.

"What are you lot doing here?" Draco's voice rang out as Hermione was going over broom basics with Neville.

"Studying," Hermione snapped. "What are _you_ doing here?"

"Studying," Draco snipped back at her. He craned his head to look at her book. "_Quidditch_?" His eyebrows shot up. "Did you see the notice? Flying lessons!" A real smile lit his face. "I almost hit a Muggle flying thing once. Father was _furious_." A shadow passed across his delight. "I've got brooms at home. Mother has bought them for me since I could walk."

"Not you _too_," Hermione slumped in her seat.

"What me too?" Draco smile turned sly. "Oh, I see. Granger's finally found something she can't learn from books!"

"Draco," Harry snapped. "Quit it."

"Don't tell me what to do, _Harry_."

"Then be pleasant, leave or sit down. Madam Pince is about to throw us out and I want to get started on my Charms essay."

Draco cast a look at Madam Pince, who was glaring at them. He dumped his books on the table and shuffled into a chair. "That woman is _mad_," he whispered.

Hermione was staring at him as if he had grown two heads. "You could have _left_," she said.

"But I've homework to do," Draco's smile was full of teeth.

"Go _away_."

"Will not."

"Will too."

"Will not."

"Will too."

"_Make_ me."

Harry caught Hermione before she could try and lunge over the table. "Would both of you quit it?" _Merlin_. Putting Draco and Hermione in the same radius with him was like mixing fire and gunpowder.

Hermione sniffed, turning back to _Quidditch Through the Ages_. Neville was studying Draco with, Harry was surprised to see, a very adult look in his eyes.

"Longbottom," Draco met that even stare.

"Malfoy," Neville returned. Then he turned back to the paragraph Hermione had been pointing to.

_Interesting_, Harry glanced at the other boy. He hadn't thought Neville and Draco knew each other. Or maybe they didn't – wait, Harry closed his eyes for a moment. _That bitch. Bellatrix. She's Draco's _ opened his eyes to see Draco's neutral expression. The blond was watching Neville and Hermione go over the procedural checkpoints for a correct, and safe, take off.

"It's best not to lock your ankles," Draco said to them, surprising a glance out of Hermione. Harry noted that Draco was focused on Neville, not her. "If you try that too close to the ground you'll tip. It's best to do it as you go up, but not too late or you'll fall, too."

"_That_ doesn't make any sense," Hermione threw a hand into the air.

Draco shrugged and turned back to his books. "Mother…" It looked like he almost glanced at Neville. "My family had me learn how to take off with pads under me. Once you get the hang of the first part, the rest comes much faster."

"Easy for you to say," Hermione muttered and went back to her book. Draco bent to his studies – he was a chair down from Harry, not quite a part of their group, but close enough to bother Hermione every now and then with a snide comment on her preparations. Harry would have intervened, but Draco's sharp comments often had a point – many of the things _Quidditch Through the Ages_ talked about made little sense to someone without the basic knowledge of broom flight. Harry let it be – besides, Hermione was quick enough with her own responses that she did not need a defender.

* * *

Hermione dragged them out of bed early on Thursday to do a last minute study of her notes at breakfast. Harry trailed in after them, knuckling sleep from his eyes. Hermione had woken their whole room up, trying to rouse Harry and Neville. Ron had always been foul tempered in the mornings. Their late night Astronomy class made him even crankier.

Harry caught sight of Draco entering the Great Hall with Theodore Nott. Harry looked away before they could notice his stare. Nott's allegiances had appeared to be neutral in the war with Voldemort. Harry hadn't caught sight of him during Hammerstein's invasion, though Nott might have been Draco's source of information on that front. As Harry remembered, Nott had been a loner through their years at Hogwarts, never joining anyone's click of friends. Nott's father was a Death Eater, Harry remembered with a wince. But not Nott. He made a face. That was a bad pun.

"Don't you think, Harry?"

He blinked over at Hermione. "Huh?"

"Harry," she frowned at him. "You'll never learn to fly if you don't _pay attention_."

"I'll be fine. Just make sure to relax," he told them. "Nerves won't do you any good. I bet."

The rest of Gryffindor spilled into the Great Hall before Hermione could respond. Ron and Dean were still at it – though they toned down the volume of their dispute as McGonagall gave them a sharp glance. Ron's comical eye roll and talking hand gestures seemed to mend some part of his and Dean's spat as Hermione restarted her review. Harry glared at Ron as he mocked the girl – _was Ron really this much of wanker during first year_? _No wonder Hermione was miserable by Halloween. Of course,_ he felt a stab of guilt,_ I was just as much to blame as Ron by then._

Hermione was interrupted by the mail. Harry had received a few more genial notes from Hagrid, something that hadn't happened the first time around, but Hedwig brought him no mail that day. Harry watched as Malfoy's eagle owl arrived with yet another package. They were all from Narcissa, Harry had noted. The notes, the candies, all of it. Never a word from his father.

Just how much distance set the two apart? Harry pushed his eggs across his plate. _ I always thought Draco was like Dudley, who could kick and scream and be horrid to his parents and get exactly what he wanted. Was that the truth or was it just what they wanted us to see_?

The Malfoys, Harry had learned over many years, had more layers – and bite – than onions. Not every layer was the truth. Most often they hid their deepest core from everyone. When they had gotten drunk at the pub, Draco's layers had come down, but Harry was never sure just how many there really were.

Harry was startled from his thoughts when a barn owl landed in front of Neville. "It's from my Gran!" the boy exclaimed as he opened his package. It contained a glass ball the size of a large marble, which seemed to be full of smoke. "It's a Rememberall!" Neville told Hermione. "Gran knows I forget things – this tells you if there's something you've forgotten to do. Look, you hold it tight like this and if it turned red – oh…" His face fell as the Rememberall turned scarlet. "I – I must have forgotten…something…"

"What, Neville forgetting something? Impossible," Ron snickered. Then he snitched it out of Neville's hand.

"Hey!" Neville tried to grab it back.

"Looks like _I'm _not forgetting anything," Ron laughed, holding up a clear sphere.

"Just your _manners_," Hermione snapped. "Give it _back_."

"What's going on?" Professor McGonagall appeared behind Ron. The redhead shoved the Rememberall back at Neville.

"Nothing, Professor," Ron was quick to say.

"Do try to keep your voices at an acceptable level," McGonagall said as she swept away.

Harry shared an eye roll with Hermione. Neville kept a protective hand around his gift, even as he tried to remember what it was he had forgot.

* * *

At three-thirty that afternoon Harry found himself trailing after the other first year Gryffindors as they hurried down the front steps and onto the grounds for their first flying lesson.

It was a clear, breezy day. Harry turned his face to the fall sun, drawing in a deep breath. He could smell wood smoke from the kitchens. The Forbidden Forest was starting to turn colors, a few brilliant red and gold trees peeking out from the solid wall of green.

The Slytherins were already there, and so were twenty broomsticks lying in neat lines on the ground. Harry thought he saw Draco give them a nod and a sly wink. Then Madam Hooch arrived. Her short gray hair was tussled from the wind. Her yellow eyes swept over them at a glance. "Well, what are you all waiting for?" she barked. "Everyone stand by a broomstick. Come on, hurry up."

Harry ended up between Hermione and Neville. Ron was on the other side of Neville, a gleeful expression on his face.

"Stick out your right hand over your broom," called Madam Hooch, "and say 'UP'!"

"UP!" Everyone shouted.

As Harry remembered, his broom jumped to his hand at once. Hermione's rolled over on the ground and Neville's hadn't moved at all. His friends were some of the last to get their brooms in the air.

Madam Hooch then showed them how to mount their brooms without sliding off the end. Ron, Crabbe and Goyle all started to laugh as Hooch corrected Draco's grip. The blond's cheeks had taken on a pink cast as he split his glare between Ron and his fellow Slytherins.

"Now, when I blow my whistle, you kick off from the ground, hard," said Hooch. "Keep your brooms steady, rise a few feet and then come straight back down by leaning forward slightly. On my whistle, three – two –"

Neville's broom jerked off the ground before Madam Hooch's mark. The boy rose straight up like a cork shot out of a bottle – twelve feet – twenty feet. Harry saw his scared, white face look down at the ground falling away, saw him gasp, slip sideways off the broom and –

WHAM. A thud and a nasty crack and Neville lay face down on the grass in a heap. Harry scrambled off his broom as Hermione fought with hers. Harry fell to his knees next to Neville as Madam Hooch started to check him over, her face as white as Neville's.

"Broken wrist," Harry heard her murmur. "Come on, lad. It's all right, up you get." She had a supportive hand under Neville's arm as they stood.

She turned to the rest of the class. "None of you is to move while I take this boy to the Hospital Wing. You leave those brooms where they lay or you'll be out of Hogwarts before you can say _Quidditch_. Come on, dear."

Harry held Hermione's arm as Madam Hooch led a tear-streaked Neville away.

No sooner were they out of earshot before Ron burst into laughter. "Did you see that?" He turned to Seamus. "My little sister did better the first time we put her on a broom!"

"Ron!" Hermione snapped at him. "He's your _housemate_."

"Fat lot your instructions did him, eh?" Ron wiped at his eyes. Harry winced as Hermione's face went white.

"Well, at least he proved he could fly," Draco shot back.

"Unlike you," Ron snickered. "Oh, look," Ron bent down and picked up something out of the grass. "It's his Rememberall! Maybe that's what he forgot? All the stupid stuff you've been filling his ears with!" Ron waved the Rememberall at Hermione.

"Give that here, Ron," Harry said, patience snapping. "And quit being such a _prat_. Neville could have died and you're laughing about it?"

"He wouldn't have _died_," Ron rolled his eyes. "I think I'll keep it. Until he can remember where he last had it!" He laughed.

"I didn't know the Weasleys were so poor that they needed to steal from their own housemates," Draco drawled.

Ron's face flushed. "Shut up, Malfoy."

"I should report you for being the greedy little weasel you are," Draco sneered.

"That's all you're good for, isn't it? Running off to _tattle_."

"I'll show you what I'm good at."

"Oh, yeah?" Ron jumped onto his broom. "Bet you can't take this from me!" Ron held out the Rememberall. "Come and get it!"

Draco snatched up his broom and was off in an instant.

"No!" Hermione cried. "Madam Hooch told us not to move – you'll get us all into trouble!"

The boys ignored her. _Merlin, is this a mess_. Harry grabbed up his broom, blood pounding in his ears. He kicked off after them, even as Hermione shouted for him to come down this instant. The feel of a broomstick under his palms was _wonderful_, the old, familiar feeling striking a chord all the way down to his bones.

"Would you two _quit_ it?" He snarled as he pulled even to the boys. "Ron, get _down_, we're about to get expelled. Draco, your _grip_ –"

Draco yelped as his broom dipped. Ron started to laugh. Harry zoomed in close to Ron, startling the boy.

"Give it here!" Harry tried to swipe it away from him.

"I won't! Why'd you warn _him_?" Ron glared. "Who cares if he falls, he's just a _Slytherin_."

"You're a bloody _idiot_," Harry snarled. "Why wouldn't I warn him? I don't want him to fall!"

"Leave off, Potter. I can handle him," Draco snapped.

"Would the both of you just _land_ so we won't get thrown out and give me Neville's Rememberall!"

"Catch it if you can, then!" Ron shouted, face an ugly shade of red. He threw the glass as hard as he could – almost falling off his broom in the process. Draco's quick catch was all that kept Ron from a head long rush to the ground.

Harry saw the ball arch into the air. Neville had been so _happy _that his grandmother had sent him a present. A slow burn started in his belly. Harry leaned forward and pointed his broom handle down – the next second he was gathering speed in a steep dive, racing the ball – the wind whistled in his ears, mingling with the screams of the other first years watching. He stretched out his hand and snatched the ball a foot from the ground, just in time to pull his broom straight. He slid to the ground with shaky legs, the Rememberall clutched safely in his fist.

"HARRY POTTER!"

Harry winced and turned. Professor McGonagall was running towards them. "_Never_ in all my time at Hogwarts –," Professor McGonagall's glasses flashed. "You might have broken your _neck_."

"It wasn't his fault, Professor,"

"Be quiet, Miss Patil."

Harry shot the girl a rueful look.

"But Ron -"

"That is _enough_, Miss Patil. Potter, follow me, now." She turned. "And _you_," she thundered at Ron and Draco. "I expected better from the _both_ of you. Five points from Gryffindor, Mr. Weasley. Five points to Slytherin for a good catch, Mr. Malfoy, but five points _from_ Slytherin for being in the air. Potter," she made a curt gesture and stalked away. Harry tried to smile at a white-faced Hermione. Draco had a mutinous scowl for McGonagall, even as Ron made a face at the woman's back.

Harry had to jog to keep up with the woman. Had he done it, now? Was he going to be expelled, since he wasn't defending a fellow Gryffindor? How was McGonagall going to react? She obviously knew Ron had been the one to throw –

McGongall stopped outside a classroom. She opened the door and poked her head inside.

"Excuse me, Professor Flitwick, could I borrow Wood for a moment?"

_Oliver_, Harry had to fight to keep from smiling. _I'm not going to be expelled_!

Wood's large, familiar frame shuffled out of the door, a confused expression on his face.

"Follow me, you two," said McGonagall. "In here," she led them into a classroom that was empty aside from Peeves, who was busy writing rude words on the blackboard.

"Out, Peeves!" McGonagall slammed the door behind him and turned to face the two boys. "Potter, this is Oliver Wood – I've found you a Seeker," she said to the older boy.

Wood's expression changed from puzzlement to delight. "Are you serious, Professor?"

"Absolutely. The boy's a natural. I've never seen anything like it. Was that your first time on a broomstick, Potter?"

Harry nodded, feeling a touch of guilt. _It was the first time this body's been on a broomstick_, he rationalized. McGonagall held out her hand. Harry realized he was still clutching Neville's Remember and handed it over.

"He caught this after a fifty-foot drive," McGonagall showed Wood. "Didn't even scratch himself."

Wood was now looking as though all his dreams had come true. "Ever seen a game of Quidditch, Potter?" Wood asked, eyes not leaving the Rememberall in McGonagall's hand.

"Wood is the captain of the Gryffindor team," McGonagall said.

"He's just the build for a Seeker, too," Wood's gaze had wrenched away from the ball. He circled Harry, eyes intent. "Light, speedy. Merlin, Potter, you're built like a swallow. We'll have to get a decent broom, Professor, a Nimbus 2000 or a Cleansweep 7, I'd say. The school brooms would buck him off."

"I shall speak to the Headmaster and see if we can't bend the first year rule. Merlin knows we need a better team than last year. _Flattened_ in that last match by Slytherin. I couldn't look Severus Snape in the face for _weeks_." Professor McGonagall peered at him from over her glasses. "I want to hear you're training hard, Potter, or I may change my mind about punishing you."

Harry nodded furiously. She smiled.

"Your father would have been proud," she said. "He was an excellent Quidditch player, himself."

Harry had to look away. _ I know,_ he wanted to tell her. _I know_.

* * *

"You're _joking_," Hermione demanded. Her food was forgotten on her plate.

"I know," Harry put his elbows on the table, chin in his hand.

"But Madam Hooch said…"

"Yeah."

Ron glowered at them from his spot between Dean and Seamus. "I don't see why you didn't lose House points," he grumbled. "You were up there, too."

Shadows fell over Harry. He looked up to see Fred and George giving their little brother a pair of hard looks. "Well done, Potter," George said. "Wood told us. We're on the team too, beaters."

They slid in next to Harry. Wood was right behind them.

"I tell you we're going to win that Quidditch Cup for sure this year," Wood said. "McGonagall told me she didn't think Charlie could have pulled that dive off and he was the best Seeker we'd had in years."

"Charlie's a thousand times better than _him_," Ron shot.

Wood snorted. "I doubt that. Anyhow, we'll find out next week," Wood leaned around Fred to peer at Harry. "We start training next week, Potter. We'll get you a schedule. Don't be late."

"But…" Hermione looked at the older boys. "First years aren't allowed on the Quidditch teams. The rules say so!"

"He'll be the youngest House player in about a century," Fred nodded. "Nice work, Potter," he gave Harry a nudge. Ron's scowl had etched furrows into his face.

Hermione was still upset when they left supper. They ran into Draco and Nott before Harry could find out why.

"How much trouble are you in?" Draco asked as they all hesitated outside the door to the Great Hall.

"I'm not," Harry shrugged. Draco peered at him, but Harry kept his mouth shut. He'd been told not to tell anyone about his placement and Draco, at age eleven, was anything but discrete.

"Thank you," Hermione blurted. They all turned to stare at her. She had red spots blooming across her cheeks. "For catching Ron."

"I didn't need him to catch me. I was _fine_," Ron snarled from behind them.

"You were _not_," Hermione snapped, turning to face him.

"Oh, please. I meant to do that."

"You're a lot more confident now that you are back on the ground," Draco drawled. "And you were going to _fall_."

"Was _not_."

"Were too."

"Why, I ought to…"

"What, Weasel? Fall at me?"

"I could take you any time," Ron spat out. "Tonight, if you want. Wizard's duel, wands only – no contact."

"_Fine_."

"_Fine_."

"Wait," Hermione pushed between them. "Duels are against the _rules_."

"Shut up, Granger," Ron pushed at her. Harry caught her before she could fall.

"Wait a minute," Harry tried.

"Midnight," Ron said. "We'll meet in the trophy room, that's always unlocked."

"What, no seconds?" Draco demanded.

"Are you too afraid, _Malfoy_?"

"Never."

"Midnight," Ron snapped and stalked off. Dean and Seamus gave them all wide-eyed stares before hurrying after him.

"But, wait," Hermione turned to Harry.

"You're risking a lot," Harry told Draco.

"I'm a Malfoy," Draco sniffed and walked off. Nott gave them a wry smile and followed Draco into the Great Hall.

"They're going to lose us points," Hermione hissed. "We can't make it up all on our _own_. Especially if they find out you're on the House team and…"

"Are you mad I made the Quidditch team?" He let go of her arm.

She flushed and looked away. "Of course not. But the House could get into trouble if the Headmaster says no and…"

"You are upset."

"No. I'm not."

"Why?"

"I _said_…"

"You are."

"Our _studies_," she snapped her mouth shut and turned away.

"I – are you saying you don't want to study with me anymore?" Harry asked, oddly hurt.

"No!" She turned back to him. "But you'll be _busy _now and Quidditch is a _very_ dangerous sport and…"

"I'll be fine," Harry smiled, hurt gone. "And I still want to study with you and Neville. Practice is just three times a week, maybe we could do it after on those days?"

Hermione huffed and rolled her eyes at him, but Harry thought he saw a little of the tension leave her shoulders. "Oh, now you're going to mess up our time table and…" He let her rant as they made their way back to the dormitory. He knew she would have a revised time schedule by the morning.

* * *

At half past eleven, Harry heard Ron try to wake Dean and Seamus. Neither boy answered Ron, either feigning sleep or they really were dead to the world. Harry had stayed up, waiting for Neville's return from the Infirmary, but there had yet to be any sign of him.

_I might as well try to stop him_, Harry sighed as Ron cursed and stomped from the room. Harry had one of Dudley's old sweaters pulled over his clothes – he wasn't about to go traipsing about the school halls in his bathrobe.

…Again.

Harry trailed down the stairs after Ron. The redhead didn't even notice him. The common room was lit by the glowing embers in the fireplace, turning the furniture into crouching shadows. Ron had almost made it to the portrait hole when a voice said, "I can't believe you're going to do this, Ron."

A lamp flickered on. Harry saw Hermione sitting in one of the armchairs, her hair braided back and her pink bathrobe drawn around her. It was an echo of a number of memories, both from school and later on in life, when Harry had tried to sneak Ron back into his house after a night at the pub. Hermione had always been furious with Ron for going out and not calling, especially after the children had been born.

"_You_," said Ron. "Go back to bed."

"I almost told your brother," Hermione snapped. "Percy – he's a Prefect, he'd put a stop to this."

"You – you interfering little –"

"Ron," Harry sighed, stepping down into the common room. "Don't be stupid. Filch is out there and Mrs. Norris. You'll get caught."

"Shove off, the both of you," Ron glared at them. "I'm a _Gryffindor_. I'm not some scaredy-cat like you." He huffed. "And you're _supposed_ to be the Boy-Who-Lived! You're supposed to be brave, not some coward who hides behind books and – and _studies_."

"What, am I to live up to some ridiculous notion that an entire society has created about me, revolving around an incident that took place when I was a _baby_?"

Ron scowled at him. "Whatever."

_Kids_, Harry wanted to spit. _Were we really this bloody _stupid? "Look," he tried. "Just stay here. If you're caught you could get into a lot of trouble, especially with McGonagall already angry at you."

"I already _said_ I would duel. I never break my word," Ron spun away, marching for the portrait hole. Hermione shot after him, and Harry took off after her, out the door.

"Don't you _care_ about Gryffindor, or do you _only_ care about yourself? I don't want Slytherin to win the House Cup and you'll lose all the points I got from Professor McGonagall for knowing about Switching Spells and –"

"Go away."

"All right, but I warned you, you just remember what I said when you're on the train tomorrow, you're so –"

Harry caught her arm. She had ended in a squeak, staring at the portrait of the Fat Lady, who was missing.

"Now what are we going to do?" Hermione clutched at Harry's arm.

"That's your bloody problem, not mine," Ron snarled as he stalked off. Harry exchanged a look with Hermione and they took off after him.

"We're coming with you," she told Ron.

"You are _not_."

"D'you think we're going to stand out here and wait for Filch to catch us? If he finds all three of us, I'll tell him the truth that we were –"

"Wait," Harry caught her arm again.

"You've got some nerve," said Ron.

"Shut _up_," Harry snapped. They stared at him. "Someone's here." The hair on his arms and at the back of his neck had started to crawl. He felt for his wand, tucked in his pocket. He had hated the nighttime skirmishes, when the shadows could hide enemy bodies and traps. More than one Auror had fallen to Hammerstein's enthusiastic use of muggle steel traps, charmed with magic.

Harry took point. He could hear a sort of snuffling. Hermione was right on his heels – he was glad to see that she, too, had her wand out and ready.

"Is it Mrs. Norris?" Ron asked.

"Hush," Harry said. "_Lumnos_."

It wasn't Mrs. Norris. It was Neville. He had been curled up by a table against the wall, jerking awake as the light of Harry's spell woke him.

"Thank goodness you found me! I've been out here for hours, I couldn't remember the new password when I left the Infirmary and –"

"Neville," Harry put a hand on the boy's shoulder. "The password is pig snout, but it won't help you now. The Fat Lady's gone off somewhere."

"How's your arm?" Hermione pushed forward.

"Fine," Neville held it out and wiggled his fingers. "Madam Pomfrey mended in about a minute."

"Blimey, you're all wet blankets," Ron muttered. "Go on back to the dormitory, then. _I_ have somewhere to be."

"Now wait one minute," Hermione stalked after him.

"Don't leave me!" Neville hurried after Harry, who had gone after Hermione. "I don't want to stay here alone: the Bloody Baron's been past twice already!"

"If any of you get me caught, I'll never rest until I've learned that Curse of the Bogies Quirrell told us about and use it on all of you."

Harry saw Hermione open her mouth, probably to tell Ron just how to use Quirrell's curse, but Harry nudged her arm and shook his head.

They trailed after Ron to the trophy room. Shafts of moonlight striped the halls, the clear night sky showing a blanket of stars.

They heard the soft murmur of conversation before they entered the room. Draco and Nott stood near the Slytherin display case. Malfoy had on his black class robes, as did Nott. Both of them started to snicker at Ron's checkered bathrobe and Hermione's pink wrap.

"That's one way to come to a duel," Draco snorted. "But what are _you_ doing here?"

Harry met the curious gaze. "Trying to keep all of you from being idiots," Harry said, keeping his voice down. "Just – go back to bed, would you? This isn't worth –"

"Quiet!" Nott snapped. He had one hand raised, ear tipped to the far door.

They all froze. Harry had his wand gripped tight in his hand when they heard someone speak.

"Sniff around, my sweet, they might be lurking in a corner."

Filch.

Draco's eyes were wide. Nott swore, soundless. Harry grabbed Hermione and Neville, jerking his head to the far door. "Come on," he mouthed to the Slytherins.

"They're in here somewhere," they heard Filch say. "Probably hiding."

"This way," Harry breathed. They began to creep down a long gallery full of suits of armor. They could hear Filch getting nearer. Filch banged on a door with a yell, causing Ron to let out a squeak. Ron broke into a run, brushing past the Slytherins and Harry, and then tripped. He grabbed for purchase and ended up topping himself and Hermione into a suit of armor.

"Run!" Harry snarled. Harry grabbed for Hermione, surprised to find Draco hauling her up as well and they all took off at a sprint down the hall. They galloped down one hall and then another, Harry in the lead. He _thought_ he recognized the hallway – it was – it was…

They ripped through a tapestry and found themselves in a hidden passageway; hurtled along it and came out near their Charms classroom.

"I think we've lost him," Harry panted, leaning against the cold wall and wiping his forehead. Ron was bent double, wheezing and spluttering. Draco wasn't much better, but Nott looked ready to continue running.

"I – _told_ – you," Hermione gasped, pointing at Ron. "I told you."

"We need to get back to the dungeons," Nott muttered, nudging Draco. "Filch likes to bother the Professor when he can't find students."

"You _tricked_ us," Ron panted, glaring at the pair. "You – you slimy –"

"Shut up," Harry snapped. "Why would they run if they meant Filch to catch us? It would mean they would have to admit to breaking the rules, too, and also lose points."

Both Slytherins stared at him.

"What?" Harry set his hands on his hips. "It's true."

Nott and Draco shared a look.

"Filch is bound to come after us," Hermione pointed out. She glanced at Draco, then away. "T-thanks. For the help."

Draco tossed his head. "I was hoping you'd leave the Weasel down there to distract Filch, not haul him up, too."

"Hey!" Ron's hands curled into fists.

"I wasn't about to _leave_ him there," Hermione exclaimed. "D'you have any idea how many points we'd lose?"

Nott ducked his head, but not before Harry caught the grin spreading across his face.

_This never happened, before_, Harry thought as they caught their breath. _Malfoy was supposed to be the coward that chickened out. What's changed_?

"Let's go," Harry cut in before Ron and Draco could get into a row. "We should try to get back before –"

A doorknob rattled and something came shooting out of a classroom two doors down.

It was Peeves. The poltergeist caught sight of them and let out a squeal of delight.

"Shut up, Peeves," Ron snapped.

"Please," Hermione added.

"Wandering around at midnight, ickle firsties? Tut, tut, tut. Naughty, naughty, you'll get caughty!"

"Not if you don't give us away," Draco growled.

"Should tell Filch, I should. It's for your own good, you know."

"Get out the way," snapped Ron, taking a swipe at Peeves. _Mistake_, Harry winced.

"STUDENTS OUT OF BED!" Peeves bellowed. "STUDENTS OUT OF BED DOWN THE CHARMS CORRIDOR!"

They took off. They tore down the corridor, rounded two corners, shot up a moving staircase and into a darkened hall. They sprinted down the corridor where they slammed into a door – and it was locked.

"This is it," Ron moaned, banging on the door. "We're done for! This is the end!"

"Shut up, Weasel."

"Piss off, Malfoy."

They could hear footsteps. It sounded like Filch was running as fast as he could towards Peeve's shouts.

"Oh, move over," Hermione snarled. She grabbed the nearest wand – Nott's – tapped the lock and whispered, "_Aloramora_!"

The lock clicked and the door slid open. Harry pushed Neville in front of him, making sure they were through as the faint edge of a light started to sweep the hall.

Harry shut the door behind him, trying to ease the lock down as soft as he could. They all crowded in, ears pressed against the wood, trying to hear Filch's muffled shouts and Peeve's taunting.

"He'll think the door is locked," Draco murmured. "Nice work, Granger."

"Please, like he'll just leave it," Ron muttered. "Get _off_, Neville."

"B-but…"

"But what?"

"B-b-b-b…."

"_What_?"

Harry turned at the gasp. _That's right_, he remembered, staring down the corridor. _That damn dog_.

It was bigger than he recalled. The three-headed monster filled the whole space between ceiling and floor. Its three snouts were twitching, all three mouths barred to show yellowed fangs.

"It's _drooling_," Draco choked out.

All three throats let out a thunderous growl. Ron's elbow caught Harry in the jaw as he pawed at the door, spilling them all into the corridor that had held Filch and Peeves just moments before.

The corridor was empty. Harry slammed the door shut as the creature lunged at them. Ron was ahead of them, tearing out alone as Neville pulled at Harry's sweater. They took off, Nott and Draco in the lead. The Slytherins peeled off at the stairs to the dungeons. Harry, Hermione and Neville followed in Ron's wake to the portrait of the Fat Lady.

"Where on earth have you all been?" she asked.

"Never mind that – pig snout," Harry panted. They scrambled into the common room and collapsed, trembling, into the armchairs.

"What do you think they're doing, keeping a thing like that locked up in a school?" Neville mustered after a few minutes.

"Well, it _was_ the forbidden corridor," Hermione had a hand over her eyes.

Ron snorted.

"Did you see what it was standing on?"

Harry started when he realized she was talking to him. "Uh. No? I wasn't looking at its feet."

"Not its feet," she shook her head, hand falling away. "The _floor_. It was standing on a trap door. It's like it's guarding something."

"_Guarding_ something? What are you on about?" Ron huffed.

"I hope _you're _pleased with yourself," she snapped back at the boy. "We all could have been killed – or worse – _expelled_ because of your little stunt."

"It's not like I _asked_ you to come along."

"We're _never_ going to win the House Cup if you keep screwing up."

"Sod off," Ron's face was scarlet.

"I am going to _bed_," Hermione stood with a sniff and stalked up the girl's stairway before they could answer.

Harry gave Ron a warning look before the redhead could say something more.

"You think it was guarding something, Harry?" Neville asked as Harry heaved himself out of the chair.

"I suppose," he shrugged. "Why else would a corridor be forbidden, you know?"

Harry hid a smile as they all climbed back into bed. Things were starting to come together. Sort of.

He yawned and snuggled under the covers. _I'll solve the mystery_. _Just with more people than last time_.

He fell asleep with a smile on his face.


	11. Chapter Ten

Chapter Ten

"What do you think the – that thing could be guarding?" Neville asked as he filled his plate with eggs and toast.

"It has to be important," Hermione speared a slice of ham with her fork. "Oh! What if it was the thing from the bank?"

"But we don't even know what that was," Harry pointed out, willing to play the devil's advocate. "Besides, I thought you would be against looking into this. It might cost us points if we were caught."

"There's no harm in _speculating_," Hermione sniffed. "They can't take points if we treat it like a logic problem."

Harry ducked his head to hide his smile.

"Whatever it is," Neville continued. "It's either really valuable or really dangerous."

"Or both," said Harry. He glanced down the table to see Ron scowling at his porridge. Dean and Seamus were trying to cajole the redhead into a better mood, to no avail. Harry bit back a sigh and shook his head.

The fluttering sound of wings heralded the arrival of the mail. Harry heard exclamations up and down the table. He looked up to see a long, thin package carried by six large screech owls. He shoved his bacon to the side as the owls settled the package right in front of him. A separate owl dropped a letter on top of the parcel.

Harry opened the letter first. He remembered what this was.

DO NOT OPEN THE PARCEL AT THE TABLE. _It contains your new Nimbus Two Thousand, but I don't want everybody knowing you've got a broomstick or they'll all want one. Oliver Wood will meet you tonight on the Quidditch field at seven o'clock for your first training session._

It was signed by Professor McGonagall. Harry passed Hermione the note before the girl could yank it out of his hands. She shared a delighted smile with Neville as they grabbed the package and hustled out of the hall.

"A Nimbus Two Thousand," Hermione poked at it with a finger. "Oh, do you think it comes with a manual?"

They almost collided with Draco and Nott. Malfoy caught the broom before it tumbled out of Harry's grip.

"That's a broomstick," Draco exclaimed. "I didn't think first years were allowed them."

"The rule's been changed," Harry shrugged as Draco handed back the broom. "You should try out for your team. You said you've flown a lot." He didn't know why he suggested it, but the few memories he had of Draco ever really _enjoying_ something was when he was on the pitch, racing after the Snitch.

A mixture of skepticism and jealousy flashed over Draco's expression. "Right. Like Professor Snape would allow that."

"You could try," was all Harry said.

"You got a _broom_," Ron's voice came from behind them. "When did you order _that_?"

Harry turned to see Ron staring at the broom in Harry's hand with almost naked desire. _Ron, Ron, Ron,_ Harry bit back a sigh. _Just…stop. You weren't _like_ this, before_.

"What kind is it, then?" Seamus darted forward, taking the parcel from Harry's hand. "Feels like a sleeker model than the old Cleansweeps," he whistled. "Blimey, Potter, you must be rich."

"I'm _not_," Harry retorted before he could stop himself. "It was a gift," he added, quieter, taking the broom back from Seamus.

"You've got a _Nimbus_?" Ron's voice squeaked. He coughed and then glared at the Slytherins over Harry's shoulder. "Well, at least it'll be good for the Quidditch team. It's better than _yours_," he sneered at Malfoy.

"What would you know about it, Weasley? You couldn't afford half the handle," Draco snapped back. Harry winced and stepped between them.

"That was uncalled for," he said to Draco.

"Move it, Potter," Ron snapped. "I'll show _him_ –"

"Boys!" Professor Flitwick called. Ron stepped away, Dean's hand tight on his shoulder. "Not arguing, I hope," the diminutive professor peered up at Draco, then at Harry.

"No, sir," Harry said.

"Potter has a broomstick, Professor," Ron shot.

"_Ron_," Hermione hissed.

"Yes, yes, that's right," said Professor Flitwick. "Professor McGonagall told me all about the circumstances. What model is it?"

"A Nimbus Two Thousand, sir," Harry showed him the package.

"A lovely model," Flitwick clapped his hands together. "I helped with the prototypes for the old Cleansweep models when I was a youngster. Ah! How time flies!" He laughed. "Come along, breakfast is almost over! You wouldn't want to miss it."

Harry shared an eye roll with Hermione over the Professor's pun. Draco and Nott left without another word, but Harry thought he felt their considering stares on his back until they were out of sight. Ron, Dean and Seamus stomped off, with Ron glaring at them as the boys passed.

Harry stashed the broom in his locked trunk and grabbed his books. Another Friday meant another Double Potions.

_James had had the Firebolt Four, _Harry remembered as they stepped down into the dungeons. He tripped on a worn edge, but Neville caught him before he could fall.

"All right there?"

"Thanks, Neville," Harry blinked fast, keeping his head down. _James_. _Albus. Lily. _ He slid into the far seat, Dean shielding him from the aisle and Snape's tendency to loom.

_My children_, Harry's hands moved on automatic as he passed up his homework and listened to Snape's sharp-tongued instructions.

_James had been a Gryffindor, through and through,_ Harry thought. Brash, headstrong, loyal to the bone, all the things Ginny and Ron and all the Weasleys upheld as the true characteristics of the Golden House. Harry had not agreed with that ideal later on in life, when years on the Auror force tempered his view of the world into various shades of gray. Harry had been proud of his firstborn, though. He would have been proud of James if he'd been born a squib. They were _his_ children, no matter what anyone would say.

Albus had gone into Ravenclaw. They'd had to have a sharp word with James to keep the elder from teasing his younger brother too much. Then there was Lily, his daughter. She had been the brains behind many of her brothers' pranks. He hadn't been surprised when she had been sorted into Slytherin. Ginny had had a conniption, but Harry had been so _proud_.

_Even if they weren't mine by blood_, Harry blinked away the threat of tears. _They were my _children.

"Potter!"

Harry jolted so bad he almost sliced into his fingers. "S-sir?"

Snape's expression was two kinds of pissed. "Answer the question!"

"I-uh," he looked at Dean, who wouldn't meet his gaze. "I'm sorry, sir. What was the question?"

"Day dreaming in my class, Potter? Two points from Gryffindor. Just because the rules have been bent for our precious little celebrity does _not_ give you license to be inattentive in class!"

"Yes, sir," Harry glued his gaze to the tabletop.

"Now, the question _was_, when do you know to add the powdered lilac root? Or did you day dream all through my instructions as I suspect?"

"You add the –"

"Speak up, boy!"

Harry didn't mean to flinch. He _hated_ it when Uncle Vernon called him _boy_. Vernon never liked to even _say_ Harry's name.

"You add the powdered lilac root when the potion comes to a rolling boil and the shade darkens to a clear blue," Harry forced out.

"Well, will wonders never cease? You can do two things at once. The wizarding world will be amazed," Snape snarled and then spun away, moving over to the Slytherin side of the room.

Harry ground his teeth together and kept a tight rein on his temper. _Merlin, but the man is such a bloody _git.

Harry was in a foul mood for the rest of the day. It didn't help that Snape kept _glaring_ at him from the head table. Harry picked at his dinner, appetite nonexistent, until Hermione started making concerned noises and he forced a few forkfuls down.

Harry joined Hermione and Neville in the library to study. They were left alone, much to his relief. Harry had to leave early to get his broomstick and head out to the pitch – avoiding Hermione's concerned glances the entire time until he could make his exit.

The familiar wooden handle of the broom fit into the palm of his hand. He carried it through the dusk to the Quidditch pitch. A faint headache had started behind his eyes. He flashed back to Ollivander's words as his steps slowed.

_This happened the first time_, Harry sucked in a breath. _I met Wood and he went over the basics of Quidditch. If – if Ollivander is right, then I _can't_ do this the same way. Right?_

But how to change it? Harry shook his head, wincing at a spike in the pain. Maybe…maybe he could…

Harry mounted his broom inside the pitch. He spiraled up into the air, relishing the way the wind rushed past his ears. He leaned down, flattening his body to the broom as he dove, pulling up in an easy evasive maneuver, trying out the way the broom could handle. It didn't have as good a turn radius as his Firebolt, and it handled odd when he dove left, but…

"Hey, Potter, come down!"

Oliver had arrived. Harry grinned at the older boy. Oliver had gone on to sign with the Puddlemere United Reserve Team, making his way up the roster until he was a regular starter with the premiere squad. Harry had tried to keep in contact with his old captain – if only for Ginny's sake. His wife had been a huge fan of Oliver's.

"Very nice," said Wood when Harry had landed. "I see what McGonagall meant. You really are a natural. We'll go over the rules tonight, then you'll be joining team practice three times a week." He set down the crate he'd been holding.

Harry winced as his headache went up a notch. "I've read about it," he blurted out, a sudden idea coming to him.

Wood squinted at him. "Have you now?"

Harry took in a deep breath and nodded. _This will make it different, right_? Harry started his best excited ramble – Hermione had been the master at it – putting all he could remember about the game into a fast flowing stream of words. Wood's expression went from skeptical to amused, and then to gleeful.

"That Quidditch Cup will have our name on it this year," Wood rubbed his hands together. "Ready for some hands on practice? I've some golf balls we can use. Up you go, Potter, come on. We have to train!"

_Wood will always be Wood_, Harry hid a snort as he mounted his broom. The headache that had been pounding behind his eyes had vanished.


	12. Chapter Eleven

Chapter Eleven: Interlude to Halloween

Days began to fly by for Harry. His time was eaten up between Quidditch practice and studying. _Thank Merlin for Hermione_, Harry breathed a sigh of relief as he finished his Transfiguration essay. _I really wouldn't have graduated without her. Not that I actually graduated, _he hid a snort. _This time I will_.

With so much on his plate, he had little time to himself to think. It ended up coming out at night, the memories and worry and everything else bleeding into his dreams, turning them dark and ugly.

He still mourned for his children. He was able to keep the memories of them tucked away during the day, but from time to time he would recall bits of their lives, favorite foods, pranks – many things. That, too, bled into his dreams. Remembering the first time James had taken to a broom – he had played Keeper in his second year at Hogwarts. The school had gone wild when Oliver Wood had shown up for James' debut game. Ginny had been so nervous – which was silly, Harry knew. They'd been friends with the then Quidditch star for years by that point.

Albus had never liked to fly. He was more interested in books than sports. Albus had had a deep bond with his Aunt Hermione. Harry had promised the boy that when he was old enough, they would take him on their outings to the used and antique bookstores. Harry never had a chance to fulfill that promise.

Lily had been indifferent to sports, or at least indifferent to her involvement in them. Ginny had been crushed – she had wanted a daughter that followed her into the professional Quidditch world. Ginny had taken the position as the senior Quidditch reporter for the Daily Prophet after Albus had been born. Harry hadn't wanted her to take the position – mostly because he _loathed_ the Daily Prophet. Ginny had been furious with him. It had taken Blaise Zabini, of all people, to talk Harry into being all right with Ginny's job. Blaise had become a senior editor of the paper after Hogwarts – and Harry had to admit, the contents of the paper were much less hysterical than they had been in Harry's youth.

Harry also found himself reflecting on how things had already changed, as compared to his life before. Ron was not his friend, choosing to spend his time with Seamus and Dean rather than take up any of Harry's faint overtures of friendship.

Hermione and Neville were becoming the friends Harry had never known he had needed. Hermione's practical approach and systematic schedules gave Harry and Neville an edge to their studies. They often won points for their house in class – except for Potions. Snape still glared bloody murder at Harry every Friday. Harry was starting to give up on ever being able to communicate with the annoying man – which was a damn shame, he acknowledged. Having Snape's help earlier in his life could have made certain other parts of his future easier.

Another thing that had changed was Malfoy. Draco had lost his two hulking sycophants somewhere early on in the school year. Harry watched the blond interact with Nott on a regular basis – there seemed to be a rift forming in the Slytherin first years, with Draco and Nott on one side and Goyle and Crabbe on the other. Harry wasn't sure if this was a good thing or not – especially when Draco seemed to be getting ribbed for his association with Harry, as well as Hermione and Neville.

That was another thing that was different. Draco was…not friendly with Harry's friends, but he at least _interacted_ with them, as did Nott. A few times the Slytherins had found the three Gryffindors in the library studying, and every time would choose to sit at the table next to them. Harry wasn't sure what kind of machinations were going on in the Slytherin dorm, but he did hope that Draco wasn't going to get into too much trouble over it.

Quidditch practice was as exhausting as he remembered it being. Wood's insistence on keeping Harry's position as Seeker a secret had lasted about as long as it took for Ron to open his mouth and shout about it at the table in the Great Hall. Fred and George had been all over their brother for the gaff, but the damage had been done.

That was one more aspect of Harry's new life that was different. Fred and George had become his friends, real mates he could rely on, on and off the pitch. Fred and George also liked to tease him as well as Hermione and Neville when they caught the three first years studying, but there was never any malice behind it. The twins' easy acceptance of Harry just seemed to drive Ron even madder. The whole situation with Harry's former best mate was a stone in his gut – Harry had no idea how to fix the gap between them. He wasn't even sure Ron would ever make an attempt to _be_ his friend at this point.

Still, Harry kept trying, with small steps, to include Ron and the rest of the first year Gryffindors. Parvati had joined their study group a few times to Harry's delight. Parvati had become a law wizard, along with her sister. They had started their own private firm. Harry had hired her for his divorce proceedings. Parvati had battled her way through reams of red tape and had won Harry's side of the case, despite years of precedence piled against them. It was a pity they'd never had time to celebrate the success. Parvati had died during the first attacks, taking on a whole squad of Hammerstein's wizards. She had bested them all, only to succumb to her wounds later at St. Mungo's. She had been named a hero, but the blitz attack on Britain had come on too fast for anyone to remember her valor for long.

That, too, Harry was intending to change. Sometimes the sheer _scope_ of what he wanted to accomplish staggered him. But all he had to do was look around and see the familiar faces of people who had died in their attempts to save the world as they knew it and Harry's resolve strengthened.

The hard part, it was turning out, was how to accomplish all the jobs he had set himself.

_I'll figure it out_, he promised all the ghosts in his memory after yet another nightmare. _I promise. I'll figure it out_.


	13. Chapter Twelve

Chapter Twelve

Halloween morning dawned cold and clear. Harry had been up for over an hour, curled next to the window with a blanket over his shoulders.

_The troll attack is today_, he blew out a long breath. _How in Merlin's name am I supposed to stop the thing, now? Should I even try?_ He worried at his lower lip. _The troll attack was why we became friends with Hermione. She won't be in the bathroom crying this time, so there will be no reason to go after her. So maybe I should just let the professors handle it?_ The decision lay like a stone in his gut. He couldn't – _I can't just let the lumbering creature wander about_, he sighed. He still felt the need to be the responsible Auror from time to time. It was what he had trained for, his entire life.

The scent of baking pumpkins wafted through the corridors as Harry and his friends made their way down to the Great Hall. Harry found he had an appetite for once and ate all of his breakfast, much to Hermione's great surprise.

Professor Flitwick announced in Charms that he thought they were ready to start making objects fly. The class cheered. They were paired up by the teacher – Harry got Neville, but fate seemed to strike Hermione – her partner was Ron.

"Now, don't forget that nice wrist movement we've been practicing!" Flitwick beamed at them from on top of his pile of books. "Swish and flick, remember, swish and flick! And remember, incant the words _properly_."

Harry let Neville go first. Harry had mastered most of the first semester charms, using his late night hours as practice time behind the curtains of his bed. It made handling his magic easier, mastering the feel and flow of it as he ran through the spells until he could do them correctly.

He held back in class, trying to stay a little behind Hermione in the standings. That also left him behind a knot of competitive Ravenclaws, but he didn't mind. To his surprise, Draco had shown up in the top percentage, along with Nott. Neville still struggled in the middle of the lists, but it was still better than he'd done the previous time.

Neville was having trouble with his wrist movements. Harry helped him correct the flick, and their feather moved a few inches on the table.

"Keep trying, Mr. Longbottom, you almost have it!" Flitwick called.

Ron, at the next table, wasn't having as much luck.

"_Wingardium Leviosa_!" he shouted, waving his arms like a windmill.

"You're saying it wrong," Harry heard Hermione snap. "It's Win-_gar-_dium Levi-_o_-sa, make the 'gar' nice and long."

"You do it then, if you're so clever," Ron snarled back.

Harry turned to see Hermione roll up her sleeves, flick her wand and say, "_Wingardium Leviosa_!"

Her feather rose off the desk and hovered about four feet above their heads.

"Oh, well done!" Professor Flitwick clapped his hands. "Everyone see here, Miss Granger's done it!"

Ron's face was scarlet as everyone admired Hermione's work. Neville even got his feather to hover an inch off the desk. Harry flicked his up, attention more on Ron's frustrated casting than on his own feather.

"_Very_ well done, Mr. Potter," Flitwich said. "You take after your mother."

Harry felt his eyes go wide and let his feather drop. No one had ever said that to him, before. Harry bit his lower lip. It was – it felt _nice_, to have someone say that he took after his mother for once, instead of just his father. It felt right.

"The pair of them are nightmares," Harry heard Ron gripe at Dean as they left the Charms classroom. "Especially that hag. It's no wonder the girls can't stand her in their dormitory."

Harry bit back a string of curses. Next to him, he heard Hermione's quick intake of breath. He spun to face Ron.

Harry had had it. "Now see here, you –"

"Harry," Hermione caught his arm. "Don't, please. Just let it go."

"What, standing up for your pet bookworm, Potter? No wonder you're doing so well. She's your cheat sheet!"

"I would never!" Hermione bit out, eyes bright.

"You're a bloody coward," Harry snarled. His rage must have bled into his expression, because Ron took a step back. "A rotten, no good coward!" His grip was so tight on his wand he could feel the ridges dig into his palms.

"Let's go, mate," Neville said, stepping in front of Harry. "It's not worth it. Come on."

"Harry," Hermione tugged at his arm. "Please."

_How have things gone so wrong_?" Harry wondered as he let his friends pull him away. _If I lose Ron, then I lose Ginny – and by losing Ginny, I lose my children. _He had to close his eyes for a long, heartbreaking moment. _How have things gone so wrong_?

* * *

Ron didn't turn up for Herbology, but Harry didn't worry about it. Ron wasn't the type to go running to the bathroom for a cry. Hermione and Neville kept giving him concerned looks, but Harry kept his head down and tried to shrug off his sour mood.

_I have to fix this_, he rubbed at his head as they tromped down to supper. _Somehow, I have to fix this_.

The Great Hall was decorated for the holiday. A thousand live bats fluttered from the walls and ceiling while a thousand more swooped over the tables in low black clouds, making the candles in the pumpkins stutter. The food appeared by magic, as it had at the start-of-term banquet.

Harry was picking apart his baked potato when Professor Quirrell came sprinting into the hall, his turban askew and terror on his face. Harry felt his hands curl into fists as Quirrell reached Professor Dumbledore's chair, slumped against the table and gasped, "Troll – in the dungeons – thought you ought to know."

Then he sunk to the floor in a dead faint.

The students panicked. The shouting and screaming shot adrenaline straight to Harry's heart. _It's a blitz_, a faint memory tried to scream, but it seemed as though the fog around his memories was good for something after all.

Several purple firecrackers exploded from the end of Professor Dumbledore's wand. Silence fell over the Great Hall. "Prefects," he rumbled, "lead your Houses back to the dormitories immediately."

Percy stood and started directing the House to the doors. Hermione had latched a hand in Harry's robe, not scared at all. "How could a troll get in? I read that they aren't intelligent in the least. D'you think he was _let_ in?"

"Yeah," Harry said. He glanced up at the Head Table. Snape was issuing orders to his House – _the Slytherin dorm is in the dungeons, _Harry realized with a blink. Draco and Nott were lost in the rush of first years. _Merlin, the Hufflepuff dorms are down there, too._

Then Neville said, "Where's Ron?"

Harry froze. Neville crashed into his back. "What's that?"

"Ron's been missing since lunch," Neville shrugged. "Dean and Seamus haven't seen him all afternoon."

"Then he won't know about the troll," Hermione's eyes grew big.

"_Shit_," Harry swore, causing Hermione to gasp and sputter. "Come on. Don't let Percy see you." He ducked down, joining the flow of Hufflepuff students. He heard Hermione's hiss, but didn't look back. Harry slid through the crowd, glad for his small frame for once. _It'll be a pain when I get older_, he rolled his eyes at the thought. He slipped down a deserted corridor, turning to see Hermione and Neville at his heels.

"Where would he be?" Hermione hissed at him. "The castle is _huge_. We'll never be able to find him."

"He's at the small courtyard," Harry shook his head. "Fred and George showed me once after practice. Ron was there."

"They did?"

"Yeah," _just not in this timeline_, he added. He _had _seen Ron there a few times that year, coming back from practice, true, but the twins hadn't showed him the spot. That had been in his other life, before.

The courtyard was also near the girl's restroom Hermione had been hiding in the first time around. _Fate does like to play its tricks_, Harry made a face. _Strange how despite things change, I keep coming back to the same places_.

Harry was in the lead. They had just turned the corner when they heard quick footsteps behind them

"It's Percy!" Neville squeaked. Harry herded them behind a large stone griffin. He crouched down, making sure the others were tucked safe behind him. Hermione was crowded against his back, peering over his shoulder.

"It's Snape," she breathed as the Potions Master crossed the corridor and disappeared from view. "What's _he_ doing here?"

"Patrolling, probably," Harry shrugged.

"But _here_?"

"Who knows where the troll's gotten to?"

He heard her gulp.

"Come on, let's hurry," Harry crept out of their hiding place, following the echo of Snape's fading footsteps.

"He's headed for the _third floor_," Hermione hissed.

"Can you smell something?" Neville's voice quavered.

Harry made a face at the stench. _Trolls,_ Merlin but he hated the creatures. Hermione let out a squeak and then pointed – at the end of a passage to the left, something huge was moving away from them.

"It's headed for the courtyard," Harry growled and took off after it.

It was as ugly as he remembered it. Twelve feet tall, its skin was a dull, granite gray, its great lumpy body like a boulder with its small bald head perched on top like a coconut.

"_Bloody hell_!" They heard Ron's shriek.

Harry rounded the corner to see Ron forced back against the courtyard edge. It was one of the balcony spaces, with a small garden full of benches and sunlight during the spring. It was also four floors off the ground, and Ron had nowhere to go but down.

"Oi!" Harry shouted at the creature. He dodged to the side, flinging a few stinging hexes at it. "This way, pea brain, come on!"

"Leave off!" Ron had the nerve to shout. "I can handle it –," then he screamed as the troll let out a roar.

"Go on, run, _run_," Harry yelled at Ron. "Hermione, try to confuse it if it turns to you. Then _run_ if you can!"

"But –"

"Just – _go_," Harry ducked under the swing of the club. He was showered by broken stone. He felt a sharp piece slice open his cheek. The edge of the club clipped his side as Harry rolled away; he was trying to force the creature's back to the open arches that led to the edge of the balcony.

He heard Ron and Hermione shouting at each other, but everything had become fuzzy, indistinct. Harry was focused on the moment, on the limited number of spells his magic could handle and on the enemy in front of him. His entire repertoire of deadlier spells were off limits until he could re-master them – there were times when he cursed his eleven-year-old magic and its unpredictability.

_I'll have to work at it_, he skidded as the troll finally – _finally_ – fell into place. _If I try anything now it'll like as not backfire on me. _

The troll let out an enraged yell. They could be quick, in short spurts, Harry remembered. He had a second to get his wand up. The blasting curse fell out of his mouth by accident. He hadn't practiced it – he hadn't _practiced_ it, he could hurt his friends, he – he could…

The troll slammed back against a pillar, its head connecting with a dull, wet _smack_. It slumped down, face first into the stone pavement.

Harry sank to his knees, head buzzing with adrenaline and pain. _It worked. Oh, thank Merlin, it worked_. _I didn't hurt them, I didn't hurt them, I…_

A sudden slamming and loud footsteps made Harry twist around. Ron, Hermione and Neville were still behind him, Ron looking as furious as Harry had ever seen him and Hermione near tears.

A moment later Professors McGonagall, Snape and Quirrell came charging up to the courtyard. Quirrell took one look at the troll and fell over in a faint. Again.

Snape stalked past Harry to check on the troll. Professor McGonagall was staring at the Gryffindors. Harry was sure that if she'd had a tail at the moment, it would be lashing.

"What on earth were you thinking? You're lucky you weren't killed! Why aren't you all in your dormitory?"

"I was _fine_," Ron shouted. Harry snorted, wincing as his bruised body began to register. He flinched away from Snape's swift, piercing look, trying to dredge up his mental defenses.

"You weren't _fine_," Hermione shouted back at Ron. "You were all alone up here, and you couldn't have known about the troll so we came to get you!"

"Yeah, _right_. And I was fine! I had it covered! I didn't need your help!"

"You were about to be squished!"

"Was not!"

"Was too!"

"Was not!"

"Was _too_."

"Enough!" McGonagall barked. "Ronald Weasley, you foolish boy, how could you think of tackling a mountain troll on your own?"

"_He_ did it," Ron flung out a hand. "How come _I'm_ in trouble?"

"Five points from Gryffindor, Mr. Weasley. I'm very disappointed in you. If you're not hurt at all, you'd better get off to Gryffindor Tower. Students are finishing the feast in their Houses."

"But –"

"March, Mr. Weasley."

Ron turned a murderous glare at Harry and stormed off. Harry slumped. This had solidified their friendship with Hermione, before. Harry let out a sigh. What had he done wrong, now?

"Going for glory, Mr. Potter?" Snape said as he stood. "How very telling."

"I was trying to save him," Harry said, voice flat. He wasn't going to fall for Snape's baiting. "All we meant to do was find him and get back to the dormitory."

"And you did not think to tell a teacher?" The edge of Snape's robes entered Harry's vision.

"Tell who?" Harry twisted a look up at the man. _What professor, what adult _ever_ helped me_? _They _never_ listened and they always, always let me down_. Harry blinked and looked away. _Except you_, he amended. Yeah, he had to admit, as backhanded as it was, Snape _had_ tried to protect him.

"He's killed it, Minerva," Snape's voice was brisk. "Blasting charm, I bet."

"_Blasting _charm?"

"I didn't really say a charm," Harry cut in, panic spearing through him. He saw Hermione's eyes go round. "I think I was lucky. Really lucky and really stupid. I should have found a teacher. You're right, Professor Snape. I'm sorry."

McGonagall's expression was a mix of wonder and worry. "Accidental magic, perhaps."

But Snape's expression had drawn down into a scowl. "A _blasting_ curse, I say."

McGonagall shot the man a sharp look and turned to them. "Yes, Mr. Potter, I dare say you were lucky. Still, it is commendable that you went to go warn a housemate about the danger, even if you should have alerted an adult first," McGonagall paused. "Five points to Gryffindor. Professor Dumbledore will be informed of this. You two may go," she told Hermione and Neville. "Severus, if you could escort Mr. Potter to the Infirmary? I should go find Albus."

Harry sucked in an alarmed breath. "I'm fine, Professor, really…"

"Nonsense. I'll take Quirrell with me," Professor McGonagall flicked a spell over the comatose man. "March!" She told the two Gryffindors next to her. Hermione shot Harry one last concerned look before taking Neville's arm and leading McGonagall down the hall.

Harry tried to control his flinch when Snape took a step closer to him. "I'm fine," he scrambled to his feet. The world swayed around him. _Magical shock_, he guessed. He'd had it a few times during skirmishes with Hammerstein's army.

"You are an irritating, reckless, foolish boy," Snape growled, grabbing Harry by the collar and pushing him along. Harry flailed, trying to untangle the man's hand. He hated it when Vernon did this, almost dragging him, like he was dragged when Hammerstein's agents had pinned him down, weak and helpless against their hexes and –

"Let me go!" Harry twisted. "_Please_."

Snape's hold vanished. Harry stumbled, one hand connecting with the wall to keep his balance.

"Is the boy hero too proud? Does he want to stand tall and pretend that the shining knight is untouchable?" Snape mocked.

Harry snorted. "I'm not a hero," he spat out. "And shining knights are fairy tales. They don't exist and never will." Harry huffed out a laugh that held no humor. "I'm just some kid. What's so heroic about that?" He shook his head and wished he hadn't. He must have smacked his skull when he rolled away from the troll.

The world started to spin. Harry blinked a few times, trying to shake it off.

"Potter? You're dripping blood all over the floor."

"You get used to it," he heard himself say, as if he was talking down a long hall. "The hard part is cleaning the dried stuff out of the grout. Aunt Petunia hates blood in the grout."

Then his vision twisted down, as if he were falling into a well, and the world went dark.


	14. Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Thirteen

Harry woke in the hospital wing. He knew where he was before he even opened his eyes. Madam Pomfrey used a special cleaning solution on the ward, something light and clean, not sharp like the acrid stuff St. Mungo's used.

Harry cracked open an eye, noting that it was just after dawn. He must have passed out in the hall at some point. He felt a flush cover his face. He must have fainted in front of _Snape_. Harry was never going to hear the end of it, now.

With a sigh, Harry sat up, knuckling sleep from his eyes. The skin on his cheek felt a little stiff – _that's right_, he'd had a cut. And a concussion. Had he mouthed off to Snape? Harry frowned, trying to remember. After the blasting curse, things got fuzzy, like he was trying to listen to a conversation while under water.

"Ah, Mr. Potter, you're awake!" Madam Pomfrey bustled down the aisle, her arms full of linen. "We'll have a quick check to make sure you're all right and then off you go!"

It never ceased to amaze Harry how bubbly the woman could be. "Thank you," he replied. He was out the door ten minutes later with a stern warning to "Never do that again!"

_Wouldn't that be nice_, Harry sighed and started the long walk back to Gryffindor Tower. _Thank Merlin Snape wasn't there,_ Harry made a face. _That's all I need, at the moment_.

* * *

As they entered November, the weather turned cold. The mountains around the school became icy gray and there was a hard frost every morning on the grounds.

The Quidditch season had begun. On Saturday, Harry would be playing in his first match after weeks of training: Gryffindor versus Slytherin. If Gryffindor won, they would move up into second place in the House Championship.

Harry couldn't wait to play. He kept his head down, all throughout Snape's class, trying to stamp down on the excitement. The last thing he needed was Snape to start taking points every time Harry fidgeted.

But Snape seemed withdrawn that Friday, sticking to the Slytherin side of the room and leaving the Gryffindors alone. It was fine by Harry – the less he had to interact with the man, the better.

Even Hermione was getting into the spirit of things. She had checked out _Quidditch Through the Ages_ again, this time intent on drilling the finer points of the sports' history into Harry's skull. He went along with her plan – he knew it was her way of feeling useful and a part of the House, in her own way.

They didn't have much contact with Draco or Nott as the game approached. Harry had a feeling that the two might have been avoiding him, but shrugged it off. There were a lot of undercurrents that went on in the Slytherin House – Harry had had an older Auror mentor that had been a Slytherin. The man had liked to talk about his school days, in the years before Grindelwald's rise to power. From what Harry had gathered, Slytherin had always been a place where the politics of power were played, even in first year.

After Herbology, Harry, Hermione and Neville found a little nook in a recessed corner of the castle, after the Library turned out too full for them to find seats. Hermione had conjured up a bright blue fire that they had fit into a jam jar for warmth. Harry had his back to the corner, so he would be able to watch the hall – _old habits die hard_, he supposed. He had _Quidditch Through the Ages_ on his lap, but his mind was elsewhere.

_It's November already_, Harry ran a thumb over the page as Hermione walked Neville through his Charms homework. _Soon it will be December and the holiday break. James used to _ - Harry's heart clenched as he took in a sharp breath. _James loves –_ loved, he amended, closing his eyes. _They all loved Christmas, but James the most_.

"What is this?"

Harry's eyes flew open to see Snape standing in front of them. _I didn't hear him arrive_! Harry could feel his heart hammering in his chest. He _couldn't_ get sloppy, he –

"Well, speak up!"

"It's um," Hermione blurted. Snape had her jam jar held up against the weak light coming in through the windows. "I – we were chilled and our Charms books say –"

"Yes, yes, Miss Granger, I am aware of first year spells," the man tilted the jar to one side. "Students are not to roam the halls like hooligans, Potter. Get back to your dormitory."

"But…"

"Now," Snape's glare got Neville scrambling to his feet. Harry followed at a slower pace, wanting to scowl at the man.

"Um, Professor, my spell…." Hermione began.

"I am confiscating it, Miss Granger. Students are not supposed to be experimenting with spells without proper supervision."

_Hypocrite_, Harry wanted to snap, but kept his mouth shut.

"Was this your idea, Miss Granger?" Snape demanded, hefting the jar.

"Um, yes, I mean, I knew the spell, but Harry figured out how to get it into the jam jar without the glass melting and –"

"Enough. Gryffindors. You never seem to think your actions through. Your attempt could have exploded the glass and injured you all. Five points from Gryffindor."

"But sir!"

"Go."

Harry knew Hermione was staring bloody murder at the man, but he paused when her attention snapped to Snape's leg. The Potions Master scowled at them, sending Neville running. Harry hurried after him, dragging Hermione along by the arm.

"Did you see?" She hissed at him once they were out of earshot.

"See what?"

"Snape had a rip in his robe! I could see bandages through it!"

"Why were you staring at the man's legs, Hermione?"

"He _wasn't _patrolling, Harry!"

"What?"

"Remember that _dog_?"

Harry hid a smile. "You think he got bit by the dog?"

"Yes!"

"I don't see why."

"I wonder what's down there," Hermione muttered as they headed for the tower. "It _must_ be something important."

_The thing about Hermione_, Harry thought as he fell behind them at the portrait hole, _was that once you put a logic puzzle in front of her, she'll worry it to the bone to figure it out_.

* * *

Game day dawned bright and cold. Harry nibbled on toast while Hermione cast worried looks in his direction – Harry had never had much of an appetite before games or anything stressful, really. The dry toast helped settle the nerves jumping around in his stomach. _I can do this. I can do this. I can do this_. He kept the mantra at a steady hum in the back of his mind. Now he had to figure out how to win the game _differently_.

Wood's speech was the same. Harry endured it, ensconced between Fred and George as the two Beaters tried to bring some levity into the training room. Emerging onto the pitch, memory rushed back to Harry: the roar of the crowd, the swell of pride as he caught the Snitch, and seeing, later, his own son on the grounds, defending the rings from the opposing teams.

Harry pushed the memories away as he mounted his broom. At Hooch's whistle the game came to life. Harry heard Lee Jordan's voice in the background, but his words were indistinct – Harry's whole attention was on finding the Snitch and ending the game as fast he could. He raced Higgs at the first sight of the Snitch, taking Flint's foul for the second time with a wince and an ache he would feel in his ribs for days later. _So much for that change_, Harry spiraled back up out of the action. _But perhaps this time I can catch the Snitch before the broom is_ –

The broom under him jerked, bucking him off. He caught the handle by sheer luck, swinging his second hand up to get a grip. _This wasn't what happened last time!_ Harry hung on for dear life. It had been a gradual ascent, last time, not a sudden buck that had almost thrown him loose. _Come on, Hermione_, Harry grunted as the broom began to whip back and forth. He could hear the crowd's roar as they caught on to his desperate situation high above the pitch. _Come on, come on, come on_…

The broom gave one last jerk and went still. _Thank you, Hermione._ Harry swung up onto his broom, arms aching. Higgs was still speeding around in circles high above the pitch. All Harry had to do now was…

A glint of gold caught his eye. He dove, hearing the crowd's swelling roar. He dodged Flint, a Bludger and there! He reached and…

Pain exploded along his side. Harry kept his hand tight around the Snitch as he slammed into the teacher's seating section. He was sprawled at someone's feet, but his hair was in his eyes. He raised his fist. The Snitch's wings buzzed against his palm. "I have the Snitch!" He struggled to sit up, pushing his hair out of his eyes with his free hand. He turned to offer an apology to the professor he had collided with and ended up staring into the eyes of a furious Professor Snape.

_He looks like Uncle Vernon right before he gets the belt_, flashed through Harry's thoughts. Then he jerked his gaze away. _Shit, shit, shit. Please don't let him have seen that, please –_

"Well done, Harry!" Hagrid appeared, plucking Harry up from the floorboards.

"Gryffindor wins!" Lee Jordan announced with a cheer. The stadium went wild.

"Here," Harry shoved the Snitch at Hooch, who was staring at Harry, then the stands, then back again.

"That should be illegal, call foul!" Marcus Flint was yelling. It took Snape's gaze away from Harry's back – he could feel it like an actual weight on his skin.

_Shit, shit,_ shit, Harry sighed as his teammates came to congratulate him.

The section was starting to get crowded as Gryffindors started to swarm towards him. Harry edged back, tripping over a broken bench seat. A hand caught him by the back of his robes before he could fall.

"Get him out of here, Hagrid. Can't you see the _precious_ boy hero is white as a sheet?"

Harry flushed at Snape's sneering tone. He wanted to twist around and snap back at the man, but Hagrid was too fast, bundling Harry through the crowd of well-wishers. Harry somehow caught Hermione's gaze in the mad house. She was hot on their heels, along with Neville, as Hagrid took them to his hut for a cup of tea.

"Now that was a catch, young Harry!" Hagrid said as he busied himself with the kettle. Harry had the chair nearest the fire, a blanket around his shoulders and a strong wish for some healing balm topmost in his mind.

"Did you hurt yourself, Harry?" Neville was worrying at his lower lip.

"Just bruises."

"Then should we get Madam Pomfrey?" Hermione asked.

"No, no, they're just bruises," Harry shook his head. "I've had worse."

"Really," said Professor Snape from behind them.

Harry froze. He wanted to let out a string of curses he'd learned from a grumpy war vet from Grindelwald's reign, but kept them tight behind his teeth. Who knew how many points Snape would take off if Harry let them slip?

"Professor Snape!" Hermione had jumped to her feet. Harry was amused to note that she had also put her body between Harry and the older man.

"What wondrous powers of observation you have, Miss Granger," Snape sneered. The man's gaze narrowed on Harry. "Madam Pomfrey is busy with the fools who have injured themselves while celebrating your _stupendously_ idiotic dive," he said. "You are to use this," he set down a small jar of ointment on Hagrid's table. "Or you can suffer, as you miserable lot are wont to do and enjoy your wounds and the attention they will bring."

"Here, now," Hagrid straightened. "That was uncalled for, Severus."

"And yet, so true," Snape sneered again and spun away.

_Greasy, nasty, horrible sod_, Harry wanted to spit at the retreating back. _Merlin, he's as bad as first year trainees at the Auror school. Grow up!_

"That _horrible_ man," Hermione burst out. "He was _hexing_ your broom, Harry! We saw it!"

"What's that now?" The teacups on the tray in Hagrid's hand rattled. "That's rubbish. Snape can be a sore loser, sure, but he's a professor. He wouldn't do a thing like that."

"We saw his leg the other day," Hermione said. "It looks like he'd been _chewed_ on. Snape was up by the three-headed dog on Halloween. We all _saw_ him headed there –"

Hagrid dropped the teapot. "How do you know about Fluffy?"

They stared. "Fluffy?" Neville squeaked.

"Yeah – he's mine – bought him off a Greek chappie I met in the pub las' year – I lent him to Dumbledore to guard the –"

"Yes?" Hermione leaned forward eagerly.

"I shouldn't have said that," Hagrid moaned. "That's top secret it is."

"But Snape must be trying to _steal_ it!" Hermione exclaimed, eyes going wide.

"Rubbish," Hagrid said again. "Snape's a Hogwart's professor. He'd do nothing of the sort."

"So why did he just try and kill Harry?" Neville asked.

"Was he, really?" Harry accepted the tea Hagrid offered.

"I know a jinx when I see one; I've read all about them! You've got to keep eye contact and Snape wasn't blinking at all, I saw him!"

"And I'm tellin' yeh, yer wrong!" Hagrid burst out. "I don't know why Harry's broom acted like that, but Snape wouldn't try an' kill a student. Now, listen to me, all of yeh – yer meddling in things that don' concern yeh. It's dangerous. Yeh forget that dog, an' yeh forget what it's guardin', that's between Professor Dumbeldore and Nicolas Flamel –"

"Who?" Hermione demanded.

Hagrid put his head in his hands. "I shouldn't have said that."


	15. Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fourteen

Harry knew their trip to Hagrid's hut had given Hermione quite a bit to chew on. _He_ knew the who's, how's, where's and why's, yes, but he wanted his friends to be involved, too.

_Or is that selfish of me_? Harry frowned at his homework. _Should I try to keep them out of all of this? They wouldn't like that._

"What a serious face, Fred."

"Oh, quite, George."

"Ickle firsties are so cute –"

"Studying so hard like that."

"Hello, Fred; hello George," Harry glanced up, pushing his homework aside.

"Of course we're studying," Hermione said. "We have exams!"

"Oh, to have first year exams," Fred slid an arm over George's shoulders.

"And first year papers," said George. "For all of our second year exams. Then we'd pass for sure."

"For sure."

"But, you both do so well." Hermione frowned at them.

The twins laughed and slid into the seats opposite them before Madam Pince could order them all out of the library.

"See, we have a drive," Fred began.

"A special plan," continued George.

"An idea – "

"A dream –"

"A goal –"

"It's really quite outrageous."

"Wonderful, but outrageous."

"Fantastical, but outrageous."

"Stupendous, but –"

"We get it," Hermione snapped. They grinned at her.

"You want to open your own business," Harry said. Then he wanted to smack himself when Fred and George snapped their attention to him.

"And just how –"

"Would you know that?"

"A good guess? You said you had a plan."

The twins gave each other a long look. "Maybe, just perhaps. You may be right," Fred said.

"But what's it to you?" George peered at him.

Harry shrugged. "Nothing. But good luck. I'm sure whatever you intend to start will do well."

"You're a strange, strange kid," George shook his head, rising.

"I think we'll keep you around," Fred winked and they left.

"I never understand how they do so well and _never_ study," Hermione moaned into her hands.

"They're good at magic," Harry shrugged. "Is this right, Neville?" He pushed his Herbology homework at the boy.

* * *

November seemed to fly by. The problems in Slytherin House seemed to have straightened themselves out, since Draco and Nott started talking to them again about a week after Gryffindor's win over Slytherin. It made History of Magic much more bearable. Nott had also traded seats with Pansy Parkinson, so he ended up in the seat across the aisle from Hermione. The five of them used the long, boring class usually as an impromptu study hall, although once Nott introduced Hermione to the wizarding version of hangman, the witch had been intrigued enough to ignore her books and play several rounds. It helped that in the wizard's version of the Muggle game, players had to guess at spells, not words. The one drawback was that the little figure on the rope was animated.

Before Harry knew it, it was mid-December. They woke one morning to find the grounds covered in several feet of snow. The lake froze solid and the Weasley twins were punished for bewitching several snowballs so that they followed Quirrell around, bouncing off the back of his turban. Hermione and Neville had to peel Harry off the ground he had been laughing so hard – but he couldn't tell them _why_. _Oh, that must have pissed off old snake head,_ Harry had thought, hands trembling as he wiped tears of mirth from his eyes.

The weather took a turn for the worse near exam time. The Gryffindor common room and the Great Hall had roaring fires most of the day, but the corridors had become icy and a bitter wind rattled the windows in the classrooms.

The worst was Snape's classroom, for several reasons. The Potions Master refused to heat the dungeon, turning the room so cold they could often see their breath at the start of class. They had to huddle around their cauldrons until their combined heat turned the temperature tolerable.

Potions class was also miserable because of Ron and his constant glare. Dean seemed to pick neither side, so Harry was left with a potions partner who refused to speak to him unless it was about the potion in front of them. On top of it all was Snape, who seemed to be watching with sharp, dark eyes, every single move Harry made.

It was rather distracting.

As the Christmas holidays approached, Harry signed up to stay over the break. McGonagall had given him an odd look, but Harry hadn't met her eyes. The less time he had to spend with the Dursleys, the better.

"But won't you be lonely?" Neville asked at supper.

"No, I reckon it'll be the best Christmas yet," _but not ever_, he wanted to say. He pushed the ache in his chest away with mental hands. His grief still lingered; he thought that he may never be rid of it. He wasn't sure if he even wanted to.

Ron and his brothers were also staying, Harry had learned from Fred. The twins had established a routine of bothering the first years a few times a week in the library – they had been thrown off at first by the sight of Draco and Nott, but soon were including the Slytherins in their teasing. The Slytherins took longer to warm up to the twins.

The Friday before the holiday break was their last Potions class for the semester. Snape was in rare form – Gryffindor lost three points just from Ron and Seamus' laughing. Harry lost a point for 'dawdling' by the ingredient bins. Even the Slytherins were taken aback by their Head of House's vehemence. Harry kept his head down, not wanting to look over at Draco and get points taken off for distracting the blond.

_Bloody git_, Harry rubbed at his head as they all filed from the class. He'd been having headaches again – _I really need to talk to Ollivander_. _I wish he would answer my letters._

"All right, Harry?" Neville asked as they drew even with a tree-laden Hagrid.

"I'm fine. Hi, Hagrid, want any help?"

"Nah, I'm all right, thanks, Harry."

"Are you sure?" Hermione gave the tree a skeptical look.

"_Wingardium leviosa_!" said a voice behind them. Hagrid gave a yelp of surprise as the tree lifted out of his arms.

Harry turned to see Draco standing there with his wand out and a delighted expression on his face. "I did it!"

"Well there, now," Hagrid blinked at the Slytherin. "Thank yeh kindly."

Harry was fascinated by the sudden pink tinge to Draco's nose and cheeks. "I was just experimenting," the blond tossed his head. "Do you, uh, need this some place?"

"What is this?" Snape's soft hiss came from behind them. "Showing off, Potter? How very Gryffindor."

"I'm not –"

"Five points –"

"_I_ did it," Draco snapped. "Sir. _I'm_ the one holding the spell. _Me._"

At Snape's slow blink, Harry let out a breath. "Five points to Slytherin for your volunteer work," Snape spat and strode off, robes flapping.

"I cannot _stand_ that man," Hermione grumbled.

"Oh, now, he's a mite testy every Christmas, but he's not so bad," Hagrid said. "Much thanks, Mr. Malfoy. I'll take it back, if'n yeh want."

"No, I've got it. Where to?" Draco's chin inched into the air at Hagrid's obvious skepticism.

"This way, then. It's for the Great Hall." They followed the grounds keeper into the hall, where Professor McGonagall and Professor Flitwick were busy with the Christmas decorations.

"Ah, Hagrid, the last tree," Professor Flitwick said. "Put it in the far corner, would you?"

"S'not me, Professor. Young Malfoy here is helping."

"_Wingardium leviosa_!" The Charms teacher clapped his hands. "Well done, Mr. Malfoy!" The diminutive teacher bustled up to the blond and ushered him away to the chosen corner, chattering at Draco the whole way. Hagrid followed, almost hovering over the tree in case it fell.

"I could have done that," Hermione frowned at them.

"But would you have gotten points for it?" Nott arched an eyebrow at her.

"I wouldn't have done it for _points_. Hagrid needed a hand."

Nott snorted and looked away. Harry followed his gaze. The hall looked spectacular. Festoons of holly and mistletoe hung all around the walls and no less than twelve towering Christmas trees stood around the room, some sparkling with tiny icicles, some glittering with hundreds of candles.

"It's so pretty," Hermione whispered and then blushed.

"I'm doubly glad I'm staying, now," Harry nodded.

"You're staying over the break?" Nott turned an inquisitive look on Harry.

"Yeah."

"Why?"

"Because it's better here," Harry shrugged. "Let's go ask Professor McGonagall how she keeps the trees from being set on fire."

"There's a spell for that," Nott laughed. "Don't your relatives use it?"

"No. My relatives are Muggles."

Nott made a face, but stayed quiet.

"We should be headed for the library," Hermione pointed out. "Professor Snape gave us that essay to finish over break and I want to get started on it."

_And search through books,_ Harry didn't add. Hermione had been searching for any reference to Nicolas Flamel that she could get her hands on – Harry wasn't sure if he should let on that he knew or not. Hermione's tenacity towards research seemed _greater_ this time around, her natural curiosity undimmed from the weeks of isolation she must have endured in Harry's previous life.

_How things change_, Harry shook his head. The ache behind his eyes was growing into a steady throb. He rubbed at his temples, trying to will away the pain.

"Mate, let's get you to Madam Pomfrey," Neville tugged at Harry's elbow. "You've been feeling off for days."

"I'm just tired," but he gave in at Nott's speculative look. The last thing he needed were nosy Slytherins poking into his business. They waved Hermione off towards the library, promising to find her at lunch.

Madam Pomfrey wasn't alone in the hospital wing. Snape was there as well, tall and imposing in his black robes against the bright and cheerful hall.

"Potter," Snape scowled at him as they approached. "What are you doing here?"

"Harry's not feeling well, Madam Pomfrey," Neville burst out, before Harry could answer the man.

"Having your sycophants hold your hand all the way to the nurse? You _do_ take after your father."

"He's been unwell for _days_," Neville rallied back, surprising Harry – and Snape, if the man's scowl was any indication. "Madam Pomfrey?"

"This way, Mr. Potter. I'm sure it's just a cold. These things do happen this time of year." The nurse ushered Harry away from Snape's dark gaze.

Madam Pomfrey cast a number of spells on him, but they all came up clear. The woman was perplexed, but let Harry go with a headache potion when the bell rang for lunch. Snape was gone by the time Harry and Neville left the wing, thank Merlin. _Of all the people to run into_, Harry rolled his eyes.

The potion did the trick. Harry was pain-free for the rest of the day, even during the rush study session Hermione had scheduled for that evening. Harry saw Hermione and Neville off the next day, unable to catch a glimpse of Draco or Nott in the madcap rush of students for the train.

The castle felt emptier with most of the students gone. Harry evaded Ron and Seamus, who had chosen to stay over the break as well, on his way back to the Gryffindor common room.

Harry secluded himself in his bed, pulling the curtains tight. He added a few privacy spells on top of them. Then he let his wand fall to the coverlet and put his head in his hands.

_I need to write Ollivander again_, he swallowed against a sudden rush of nausea. _What's wrong _now? He closed his eyes and descended down into his mind.

Nothing _looked_ out of place. The doorframes were whole, healing the cracks and damage that had been done in the summer. None of the locked doors were ajar, and Harry couldn't tell if the memories of his adult past were any foggier. _So, why do I feel so awful?_

Harry pulled out of his mental pathways and curled up on his side, pulling the comforter over his body. _I miss them,_ he blinked at the bed curtains, feeling the burn in his eyes. _Lily would go mad for Christmas. I had to bake cookies almost every other day for them. At least Aunt Petunia had been good for something, _he snorted. Most of the cookie recipes Harry had known had come from Aunt Petunia's fancy cooking magazines.

Harry had loved Christmas with his children. He loved going out and buying presents, seeing them tear into the wrapping paper and the way their little faces would light up. Ginny had gone with him once or twice over the years, but his wife did all of her shopping alone, for the most part. Harry offered every year, wanting her to come with him – but Ginny's schedule often became hectic during December. The Quidditch season went on a small break for the Christmas and New Year's holidays, but that was all. Ginny had many articles that were due for press deadlines around that time. Harry had no problem stepping in for the children, going to their primary school plays or baking treats for their classroom parties. Harry _enjoyed_ doing that for his kids. It was something he'd never had and it felt good to be able to do it for his own children.

Harry fell asleep curled up in his covers and had good dreams for once. He managed to slip out early the next morning before Ron or Seamus woke up. He was not as stealthy at avoiding the twins at breakfast, though.

"Harry, Harry," Fred dropped into the seat next to him. "You're young! You're not supposed to be up so early!"

"Then what are you doing up?" Harry shot back.

George slid in on Harry's other side. "We've a pact with the devil," he leaned in close and wiggled his fingers in Harry's face.

"Doubt it," Harry rolled his eyes.

"Oh, but you're no fun."

"What are you doing up so early?" Fred jumped in.

Harry shrugged. "I just…do."

"But _why_? Don't you sleep in at home?"

Harry snorted before he could help it. "No."

"No?"

"No?"

"Do tell," they said together.

"There's…nothing to tell," Harry hedged.

"Really?"

"Really?"

"Yes," Harry sighed.

"So you just wake up early."

"And do what?"

"Well," Harry began.

"Play with ponies?"

"No!"

"Twiddle your thumbs?"

"Dance with candles?"

"Pick pixie pockets?"

"I cook!" Harry laughed. "Okay? I have to cook, so I have to get up early to put the bacon on so there's enough for Uncle Vernon and Dudley."

"Really," said Snape from behind them.

Harry flinched and ducked his head. _How does he keep sneaking up on me like that_? "Uh," he glanced over his shoulder at the man.

"We try to cook," Fred said. "I'm pants at it. Mum won't let us near the kitchen anymore."

"That," Snape said. "I do believe."

Harry made the mistake of looking up at the man's face. Dark eyes were focused on him. Harry felt the slide of an unfamiliar mind against his, dark and cool, like water from the bottom of the lake – the hot burn of bacon grease against his fingers as he pocketed the burnt scraps before Aunt Petunia could throw them out – a broken plate and the way his ear burned from Uncle Vernon's cuff – the lance of pain, foggy and distant, distorted as a dream as a man screams hexes at Harry's broken body –

Harry snapped his head down, breaking the gaze. _Shit. Oh – oh fucking shit. If Snape – if Snape saw_…

"Indoor voices will be observed, Misters Weasley and Potter. Do mind the holiday rules. They are meant for everyone to obey." Snape seemed to hesitate, flicking a scowl at Harry and then stalked away.

_I hate that man sometimes_, Harry let out a shaky breath. He was starting to feel achy all over, as if he was coming down with the flu.

"All right there, Harry?" Fred put a hand on his shoulder.

"I think I'm going to go see Madam Pomfrey again," Harry said. "I don't feel so well."

"Get better, mate," George called as Harry left the hall.

Pomfrey was surprised to see him again so soon, but that time her spells did turn up a diagnosis. She made Harry get into bed and gave him a number of potions to take – Wizard's Flu, Pomfrey called it. She said it would pass in a day or two.

Harry tried to sleep, even as the ache in his bones grew throughout the day and night. Nightmares dogged his dreams. Foggy memories mixed with dream-time imagination made for bloody battles and all that he loved being killed again and again in front of his eyes.

Once and a while he dreamt of Snape – Snape, that horrible git, the tall looming threat in Potions, the bite of his hand on Harry's shoulder, the way he would _shout_, loud and vicious and just like Uncle Vernon, Merlin, no, not to dream about Uncle Vernon, and the sharp, biting fingers were back on his shoulder, dreaming of Snape again, surely he was dreaming of Snape again, looming over Harry in the dark, dim room, looming like Voldemort, like Dementors, the green flash and his mother's scream, Merlin why, his mother's scream, why would he always hear them scream…

Harry woke, once, bathed in sweat as Madam Pomfrey fussed over him, her spells casting cool relief to his fevered skin. The shadows twisted around his bed – _Merlin, I must be sick, that almost looked like Snape standing in the corner_ – and then Madam Pomfrey was urging a vial for Harry to drink. He tossed it back, wishing it were fire whiskey instead and was asleep before his head touched the pillow.

He woke the next morning, weak and a little dizzy. Madam Pomfrey told him that he was over the worst of it and to not tax himself and to keep warm. She shooed him off to Gryffindor Tower after lunch, only after procuring a solemn promise from him that he would rest and keep warm for the rest of the holiday.

Harry had to stop from time to time on the way back to the tower. He was still a little dizzy, but more than that, it felt like someone was _following_ him. He was alone every time he checked, though, so he chalked it up to the lingering effects of his nightmares.

It had to be, right? Right.


	16. Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Fifteen

Harry kept his promise to Madam Pomfrey all through the days leading up to Christmas. He stayed indoors, worked on his homework in the library and played exploding snap with the twins at night. Tale of Harry's bout of the flu spread fast, earning him some teasing from Ron and Seamus, at least until George and Fred stepped in with their own tales of their brothers' woes with the wizard's flu.

Harry didn't have much appetite, but Madam Pomfrey had been insistent that he eat to regain his strength. He didn't like the way she kept muttering about weight and height charts – Harry _knew_ his frame was supposed to be bigger, taking after his father, but years with the Dursleys' and their favorite form of punishment – taking away his food – had robbed him of the height and heft he was meant to have.

On Christmas Eve, Harry went to bed looking forward to the feast and maybe a game of wizard's chess with the twins – they had wrangled Ron's set from the other first year and were teaching Harry the basics. It was nice, in an odd way, to spend so much time with the twins. _I never got to know them this well so early_, Harry acknowledged. _It's…nice._

Harry woke on Christmas day to a pair of bodies flinging themselves onto his bed.

"What – what?" Harry flailed, still foggy with sleep.

"Happy Christmas, Harry!" The twins hollered.

Harry fumbled for his glasses. His curtains were pulled back, spells broken by the twins' enthusiasm. Fred and George had dumped presents onto the bed and were busy sorting through them as Harry sat up.

"This one's for us, us, us, oh, one for ickle Ronnickins," they tossed a package at a sleepy-eyed Ron. "And one for Seamus, Mum's been busy this year!"

Harry curled his legs under him as the twins pawed through the presents. Seamus had his own pile on the end of his bed. Ron and the twins all had good sized bundles in front of them, compared to Harry's.

Harry started opening his presents before the twins could say something. The way they were eyeing their piles and then Harry's was a conversation Harry did not want to have. Ever.

The top parcel was Hagrid's. Inside was a rough-cut wooden flute. There was a book from Hermione – a copy of _Quidditch Through the Ages_. Harry grinned down at the title. He was glad to have thought of sending his own presents this year. He hoped Hermione liked her book on supplemental charms. Neville had sent him a backgammon board. Harry had been stumped as to what to get Neville, so he'd gone with a big box of wizarding candy. He'd have to get Neville to teach him how to play backgammon.

The note from Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia was there, too. Harry made a face and set it aside.

"What's this now?" Fred picked it up. "Your relatives sent you…what is this?"

"Fifty pence piece," Harry said. "Muggle money."

"Figures _you'd_ get sent money," Ron said.

"Fifty pence, mate?" Seamus made a face. "I'm sorry."

"Why are you sorry?" Ron asked.

"It's like," Seamus shrugged. "Knuts. It can't _buy_ anything, really. It's, uh, like an insult."

"But why would –"

"Would you look at that," Fred exclaimed, cutting Ron off to Harry's relief. "Mum's made Harry a sweater, too!"

"Of course she did, you asked her to," Ron snapped.

Harry smiled down at the hand-knitted emerald green sweater. He pulled it on over his pajamas and opened the fudge. "I'll have to write her a thank you card," he said. "Thanks, Fred. Thanks, George."

Harry found the package with the invisibility cloak and opened it. Fred and George's eyes were huge as Harry pulled out the silvery folds.

"A note's dropped out," Fred held it up.

"Your father left this in my possession before he died. It is time it was returned to you. Use it well. A very Merry Christmas to you," Harry read out. He had to blink fast and focus on the feel of the smooth material under his palms.

"What's all this noise?" Percy Weasley stuck his head in through the door. Fred and George scrambled off Harry's bed to go annoy their elder brother. Harry wrapped his gifts in his cloak and put them in his locked trunk for safe keeping. Fred and George had wiggled into their own sweaters and were bugging Ron and Percy into theirs. Even Seamus had gotten a sweater, a bright scarlet one with an S on the front.

"Come on, come on," said George. "We're all wearing ours. Time for breakfast. You'll not be sitting with the prefects either, Percy. Christmas is for family. Come on, Harry!"

Laughing, Harry followed them down to breakfast.

* * *

Hogwarts' Christmas dinner was as extravagant as Harry remembered. A hundred fat, roasted turkeys; mountains of roast and boiled potatoes; platters of chipolatas; tureens of buttered peas; silver boats of thick, rich gravy and cranberry sauce – and stacks of wizard crackers every few feet along the table.

The fantastic party favors were nothing like the feeble Muggle ones the Dursleys bought ever year, with their little plastic toys and flimsy paper hats inside. Harry pulled a wizard cracker with Fred and it didn't just bang, it went off with a blast like a cannon and engulfed them all in a cloud of blue smoke, while from the inside exploded a rear admiral's hat and several live, white mice.

Up at the High Table, Dumbledore had swapped his pointed wizard's hat for a flowered bonnet and was chuckling at a joke Professor Flitwick had just read him. Professor McGonagall was leaning in close to Professor Sinistra as they giggled like the girls they once were. Even Snape was at the feast, a dark shadow against the other professors' festive robes. Harry was grateful that Quirrell stayed away that night. He didn't want it marred by the man and his parasite's presence.

Harry finished a full plate of food, to his delight. The flaming Christmas puddings he picked at – laughing with the twins when Percy almost broke a tooth on a silver sickle embedded in his slice.

When Harry left the table, he was laden down with a stack of things out of the crackers, including a pack of non-exploding, luminous balloons; a Grow-Your-Own-Warts kit and his own brand new wizard chess set.

Harry spent the rest of the evening breaking in his new games with the twins. Ron and Seamus had gone out to play in the snow. Percy tried to help Harry with his game, but they ended up losing spectacularly to the twins, which in turn caused Fred and George to steal Percy's prefect badge and have Percy chase them around the room to get it back.

After a supper of turkey sandwiches, crumpets, trifle and Christmas cake, Harry was too full to do much more than sit in one of the stuffed arm chars by the fire and stare into the flames.

_By now we'd be telling Christmas stories by the fire as our coats and boots dried in the mudroom_, Harry pressed his lips together. _Albus and Lily would cuddle up on either side of me and listen as I read, while James would lay in front of the fire on the rug. Ginny…Ginny had made hot chocolate a few times, I remember. She wouldn't stay for long, but she was always so tired and had all her deadlines due_.

Harry shuffled to bed with the rest of the boys. He lay on his back, mind turning over and over as the hours ticked away. When he was sure they were all asleep, Harry crept out of bed, pulled on his Weasley sweater and swung his father's invisibility cloak over his shoulders.

Harry let his feet do the wandering. He slipped down dark corridors, shaded with silver moonlight, their torches dark and cold. Even the moving stairs were silent, still in the wee hours of morning. It felt like the castle was asleep and dreaming around him.

Then his feet found a familiar narrow corridor, where a door had been left ajar. Harry slipped inside, shivering, hope and dread both warring in his stomach.

The mirror was as high as the ceiling, the ornate gold frame dulled by the shadows. Harry could pick out the inscription at the top; _Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi_.

"My heart's desire," Harry felt his throat close up. He pulled the cloak from his body, letting it drop as he came to a stop in front of the glass.

Harry had always thought his mum was a beautiful woman. Her dark red hair and her eyes – _just like mine_. His father was still tall and thin, with their same cowlick at the back of their heads; yes, Harry could see their features reflected in his. He just wished he had had the chance to know them, before they had died.

He let out a shuddering, gulping breath as his children wiggled their way to the front. Lily, with her dark red hair and hazel eyes, Harry had always thought she'd had his mother's nose, despite what the paternity spells had claimed. Albus took after Arthur Weasley; he was built solid, a perfect Beater's body, had he ever wanted to play. His hair had been dark, brown with auburn highlights, the Weasley mark. James' hair was dark as well, not messy like Harry's, already as tall as his father – _I will always be his father_ – by the time he was fourteen.

Harry blinked away tears, his hands pressed flat against the glass as though he could fall right through it. Even Sirius was there, Remus and Tonks and – Merlin. Everyone, everyone was there, all of his family, his friends, even _Draco_, of all people, with Scorpius there to make faces at James the younger and – and –

How long he stood there, he didn't know. He only left when dawn started to pink the sky in the east. "I'll come back," he told his children, his parents, his _family_, before pulling the cloak back around his body and staggering off to bed.

* * *

Harry had trouble avoiding the Weasley twin's antics, but he was able to get back the next night, and the next. Harry would sit in front of the mirror, eyes burning as he told his children all the stories he'd forgotten about his own first year – and the new adventures he'd had. He kept it at a soundless whisper, aware that Dumbledore _had_ to have a charm on the room.

Harry was expecting the man, but Dumbledore did not come on the third night, but rather on the fourth of Harry's long vigil in front of the glass.

"Back again, Harry?"

_More than you know_, Harry closed his eyes on a slow blink. Then he twisted around to see Dumbledore sitting on one of the desks by the wall.

"I didn't see you, sir."

"Strange how near-sighted being invisible can make you," said Dumbledore. "I see that you, like hundreds before you, have discovered the delights of the Mirror of Erised."

"I wouldn't call it a delight," Harry said. He wiped at his cheeks.

"I expect you've realized by now what it does?"

"Yes," Harry let out a shaky breath. He looked back to the mirror, an unwilling smile pulled out of him as Lily and Albus ganged up on their brother to pull him to the floor in a tickle fight.

"Do you, Harry?" Harry heard Dumbledore approach.

"It shows us what we want."

"Yes and no," said the old wizard. "It shows us nothing more or less than the deepest, most desperate desire of our hearts. However, this mirror will give us neither knowledge nor truth. Men have wasted away before it, entranced by what they have seen, or been driven mad, not knowing if what it shows is real or possible."

"What is possible," Harry echoed. _Yes, _he thought, staring at his children. _It certainly shows that_. "I never knew I had my Mum's nose," he said. He brushed a hand over his hair. "Or my father's hair. Or, or anything," he drew in a ragged breath.

"The mirror will be moved to a new home tomorrow, Harry," Harry glanced up at Dumbledore, surprised to see a shiny glint to the man's eyes. "I am afraid I must ask you not to go looking for it again. If you ever _do_ run across it, you will now be prepared. It does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live, remember that. Now, why don't you put that admirable cloak on and get off to bed?"

Harry took one last long look at his family, his children, all of them, trying to etch them into the dark space behind his eyes. Then he stood, drawing his cloak around him.

"Professor Dumbledore?" He caught the man studying the mirror with a sad smile.

"Yes, Harry?"

"Do you…are there any pictures left of my parents, do you know?"

"I do not know, young man, but I can ask. Did your aunt never show you any?"

"No," Harry said. "She never showed me anything." He gave the old wizard a small shrug and left, letting Dumbledore mull Harry's words over, for once.


	17. Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Sixteen

Harry knew the twins had caught on that something was…off with Harry by the way they started herding him around during the day. _Older brothers will always be older brothers_, Harry put up with their antics, challenging them to games of chess. He even got Ron to drift over a few times while they were playing – _Ron never could resist a chess game_. The youngest male Weasley would help Harry, if grudgingly, to the few victories Harry claimed over the twins.

_They really are smart_, Harry studied the pair over one late night in the common room. _After Fred died, George's light just went…out. This time I'll try to keep you alive_, he wanted to tell them. _Somehow, I'll find a way._

It was also strange how the twins had taken to Harry. He remembered them being around, the first time, but Harry had been so concentrated on Ron and Hermione that the twins had never made more of a distant impact in his thoughts. This time around, however, Harry was hip deep with the twins as they dragged Harry around the castle, argued about Quidditch with him and generally stuck close to Harry's side.

The twins' presence helped beat away the loneliness during the day, but Harry's nightmares had come roaring back with a vengeance. He'd fallen out of bed, the night before everyone returned, startling both Ron and Seamus awake. Harry caught sight of Scabbers sniffing around his trunk a few times, but Harry had charmed it locked. He still didn't know what to do about the damn man. Harry knew he had time to think it over – still. He _hated_ living in the same room as Wormtail.

"Harry!" He heard Hermione call. It was the day before term started and students were flocking back to the dorm. Harry slipped past a few older students to find Hermione and Neville in the common room.

"Hello," he got out before Hermione hugged him, hard. Then she was pulling back, quick as a snake, her cheeks red.

"How was your Christmas? We had a normal Christmas and I never thought it would be so weird to go back to a Muggle house that had no magic or charms or _anything_. I half expected the stairs to move on me every time I set foot on them and –"

"It was really good. Thanks for your presents, both of you," Harry rescued her from her babbling. He grinned at Neville. "Fred and George taught me how to play chess, but not backgammon. Do you play?"

"I like it more than chess," Neville ducked his head with a smile.

"What's wizarding chess like?" Hermione asked.

"Here, we'll show you," Harry said, pulling them to one of the tables in the common room.

* * *

Term started with a pile of homework, exams to prepare for and the last leg of the Quidditch season to battle through.

Wood was working the team harder than ever. Even the endless rain that had replaced the snow couldn't dampen his spirits. Harry enjoyed all the extra training, even if the twins complained. The exercise let him fall asleep at night, and have fewer nightmares as a result.

Then, during the particularly wet and muddy practice session, Wood gave the team some bad news. "Snape's refereeing the next match," he told them during their post-practice huddle. "That means no messing around, Fred, George."

The twins let out a loud groan. "_Snape's_ refereeing?" George made a face. "When's he ever refereed a Quidditch match? He's not going to be fair if we might overtake Slytherin."

"It's not _my _fault," said Wood. "We've just got to make sure we play a clean game, so Snape doesn't have an excuse to pick on us."

Harry kept quiet, even as the rest of the team complained. He thought he knew why Snape had chosen to referee the game – _odd how things come to you the second time around_. Out on the pitch, Snape would have a better chance at counter-jinxing Harry's broom if someone tried the same stunt again. _It's a good thing the man had made that promise to Mum's memory,_ Harry wanted to grumble. _Otherwise, I might have died during my real first year several times over._

George and Fred hung back to talk to the girls on the team as Harry trudged back to Gryffindor Tower. He found Hermione and Neville in the common room, with Neville teaching Hermione how to play backgammon.

"Don't talk to me for a moment, I almost have this," Hermione said, a fierce scowl of concentration on her face.

It was Neville who looked up, frowned at Harry and said, "What's the matter with the Quidditch team, Harry? They're all stomping about."

"They're upset because Snape's been named as the next match's referee."

"What?" Hermione yelped, dropping the dice. "You can't – don't play!"

"Say you're ill," added Neville.

"Pretend to break your leg," Hermione suggested.

"Really break your leg," said Neville.

"I can't," said Harry. "There isn't a reserve Seeker. If I back out now, Gryffindor can't play at all. Anyhow, it will be fine. Snape's just a stickler for the rules is all."

Hermione opened her mouth to retort, but at that moment Ron toppled into the common room. The redhead lay face down on the carpet, legs stuck together with what they recognized at once as the Leg-Locker curse.

Most everyone started to laugh, but Hermione beat Harry to Ron's side. She performed the counter-curse, wand flicking over Ron's legs.

"Oh, are you all right? What happened? Should we get a prefect?"

"Leave off!" Ron shoved at her hands. His face was bright red. "I don't need any help, I was fine, I – "

"You were not!"

"Shut up!"

"You shut up! Who did this? You should report them!"

"Some stupid Slytherin third year and no, I _won't._ _I'm_ not some pathetic tattle-tale, like _you_."

"Why you-"

"Hermione," Harry caught her arm. Neville bent down, trying to help Ron to his feet, but Ron pushed him away so hard Neville fell on his rear.

"Just leave me alone!" Ron thundered and stomped up the tower stairs.

"All right, Neville?" Harry extended a hand to help Neville to his feet.

"Yeah," Neville rubbed at his rear. "I was just trying to help."

"Here," Harry felt in his pockets and pulled out a chocolate frog.

"Thanks," Neville quirked him a grin and caught the frog before it could hop away. "D'you want the card? You collect them, yeah?"

"Not really," but Harry took the Famous Wizard card anyway. "Dumbledore," he murmured. Hermione crowded up next to him as he flipped it over. Her gasp made both boys jump.

"There, there, _look_. Flamel. I _knew_ I'd read the name before, it was on the _train_. Listen to this; Dumbledore is particularly famous for his defeat of the Dark Wizard Grindelwald in 1945, for the discovery of the twelve uses of dragon's blood, and his work on alchemy with his partner, Nicolas Flamel!"

"Eh?" Neville blinked down at the card.

"I knew it. I _knew_ it."

"Knew what?"

"Wait a minute!" She dashed off to the girl's dormitory. Harry just shrugged at Neville's perplexed expression, and stuffed down the need to cheer. _Not quite like last time, no. But exactly what I needed._ He bit back a fierce smile.

Hermione came back with an enormous book. She set it down on top of their game, despite Neville's exclamation. "See, here," she flicked it open to a page. "Nicolas Flamel is the only known maker of the Sorcerer's Stone!"

"The what?" asked Neville.

"Oh, for," Hermione pushed the book at him. Harry skimmed the passage and nodded.

"You think that's what the dog is guarding?"

"It's the only thing I can think of. With a stone like that you could do almost _anything_."

"No wonder we couldn't find Flamel in that study of Recent Developments in Wizardry," Neville said. "He's not exactly recent if he's six hundred and sixty-five, now is he?"

* * *

_The problem_, Harry mused, _is that once Hermione has the answer, she sometimes doesn't know what to do with it._

As logic puzzles went, Harry had to admit that Hermione was the best out of all of them in figuring them out. However, once Hermione had riddled out the secret behind Fluffy and the dog's trap door, Harry could tell that the witch had no idea as what to do next.

Not that Harry had much of an answer. He could, he supposed, walk up to Quirrell and put his hands on the man – but would he need to be in danger for his mother's protection to work? And – if he _did_ succeed in randomly slaying the man – who would believe Harry that a professor in Hogwarts, the Defense Against Dark Arts professor to boot, had had Voldemort sticking out the back of his head for most of the year and no one had noticed but Harry? He'd be lucky if they didn't lock him up in Azkaban.

The thoughts also triggered a familiar question – _Dumbledore is a powerful wizard and Occlumens, _Harry mulled over in Defense, staring at the back of Quirrell's turban and picturing ways to destroy the monster underneath. _If Dumbledore is so strong, _why_ did he never suspect Quirrell and do something about it? Or…did he? _Did_ Dumbledore know the entire time what he had in his school and chose to do nothing about it, all to see how I would _react?

Harry forced his glare to his notes before Quirrell could turn and notice the hate in Harry's expression. _Why couldn't the adults have dealt with this? Dumbledore is more than a match for Quirrell and Voldemort's ghost combined. Was this to serve as my training? _

Harry tried to shake the dark thoughts off. Even Draco and Nott had taken notice of his sour mood – although Draco tended to tease Harry about the upcoming Quidditch match instead. Harry put up with it as best he could, teasing back when Draco's enthusiasm went over the top. Nott chose to stay out of it, rolling his eyes at Hermione whenever Harry got tangled up with Draco in an argument about Quidditch.

As the match drew nearer, the entire Gryffindor team began to show their nerves in practice. It was driving Wood mad, and they were treated with his rants at the end of every practice.

Another thing that had unsettled Harry's nerves was that he kept running into Snape everywhere he went. The Potions Master was as mean and nasty in class as ever – well, mostly. The man had opted to pick on Ron and Seamus instead of Harry and Dean for the new semester. Even Neville was getting a break at times – with Hermione's help, the boy was earning a passing grade in the class – to everyone's surprise, including Neville's.

The day of the match dawned clear and cold. Harry got his uniform on before Wood could give his pep talk and slipped out to the balcony.

He spotted Hermione and Neville in the crowd of Gryffindors – with a dash of green and silver behind them. _Draco and Nott_, Harry wanted to smile. Harry let out a slow breath, counting out the beat of his heart, trying to calm his nerves. Snape was refereeing. Dumbledore was in the stands. Quirrell wouldn't be able to get another shot at him.

He hoped.

"Blimey," he heard Fred say. "The whole school's out here."

"Come on, kid," George tugged at Harry's shoulder. "Wood wants a word with us all."

Harry ducked inside, standing between the Beaters as Wood gave his speech. After, Wood pulled him aside.

"Don't want to pressure you, Potter," he said, "but if we ever needed an early capture of the Snitch, it's now. Finish the game before Snape can favor Hufflepuff too much."

"I'll try," Harry promised the Captain.

Snape certainly seemed to be in a foul mood, Harry noted as the game kicked off. Harry climbed for height. He thought he saw Snape trying to angle his broom to keep Harry in sight, but he couldn't pay attention to the man for long.

Below him the game was a blur of moving bodies, crashing broomsticks and the roar of the crowd. In Harry's mind, quiet started to spread. His world narrowed down to the feel of warm wood under his palms, the chill of the wind and the bright glint of gold in the sun.

_There!_ Harry flattened his body and dove, feeling blood rush to his head as he tore through the run of play, a dark shape missing him by inches – _there – almost – almost – and_ –

Harry rolled out of the dive, feeling the grass brush his arm as he pulled up. He held up the Snitch. _That didn't take too long, Wood. Hope that's what you wanted_.

The crowd went wild. Gryffindors spilled onto the pitch to celebrate. Harry slid off his broom, using it as a shield against his more ardent well-wishers. He ran into a solid body behind him.

"Do you have _any_ idea how badly you could have been injured pulling a stunt like that?" Snape growled.

Harry flinched away from the hand that had landed on his shoulder. "Um," he said. He tried to slide the man's grip away. "Here?" He held out the Snitch. Snape looked _furious_.

"Well done, Harry," Dumbledore said, coming up to them. Snape yanked his hand away from Harry's shoulder. The Headmaster plucked the Snitch from Harry's hand.

Harry did his best to bow out of the celebrations. Crowds made him uncomfortable – they always had. He was putting his Nimbus 2000 in the broom shed when he saw Snape leave the castle. _That's right_, he thought, one hand resting against the rough wooden doors. _Snape's off to meet Quirrell in the woods. I know what he's going to say, so I should – Hermione_?

Sure enough, the Gryffindor girl was sneaking out of the door, trailing after Snape.

_What the hell?_ Harry leapt onto his broom and sped after her. He caught her before she could slip into the Forest.

"What are you _doing_?" He landed in front of her. "Are you _mad_? You're the one who never wants to break the rules, Hermione – what…"

"_Hush_, Harry, please," the girl bit her lip. "Snape is the only one I can figure who would want to steal the Stone, don't you see? _And_ he tried to kill you that once – Harry, we have to make sure he's not planning anything else!"

"Filch," Harry blurted out.

"What?"

"Get on, get on, before he sees us!"

Hermione scrambled onto his broom. He took them into the Forest before Filch caught sight of them.

"There he is!" Hermione hissed, elbowing Harry in the ribs. "Go down! Right there!"

Harry spat out a mouthful of her hair, but landed on a large branch. Hermione scrambled off, peering through the thick foliage.

"…d-didn't know why you wanted t-to meet here of all p-places, Severus…"

"Oh, I thought we'd keep this private," said Snape, his voice icy. "Students aren't supposed to know about the Sorcerer's Stone, after all."

Hermione clutched at Harry's arm. They heard Quirrell mumble something and Snape interrupt him.

"Have you found out how to get past that beast of Hagrid's yet?"

"B-b-b-but Severus, I…"

"You don't want me as your enemy, Quirrell," said Snape, taking a step toward him.

"I – I don't know what you…"

"You know perfectly well what I mean."

An owl hooted, the loud call startling Hermione so bad she almost fell from the tree. Harry steadied her in time to hear Snape say, "-your little bit of hocus-pocus. I'm waiting."

"B-but I d-d-didn't…"

"Very well," Snape cut in. "We'll have another chat soon, when you've had time to think things over and decided where your loyalties lie."

Snape stalked off, leaving Quirrell to stand there, petrified for a long moment before dashing off.

"There, do you see?" Hermione turned to Harry. "Fluffy _is_ guarding something, it _is_ the Stone _and_ we know someone is after it and that someone is Snape!"

"I don't know, Hermione," Harry hedged. "It kind of sounded like Snape was the one trying to warn Quirrell off."

"Are you mad? Quirrell is nearly useless. I've heard the older year girls say that Snape's been after the Dark Arts job for years, so he obviously knows a lot about the subject. And why would _Quirrell_ want the Stone? He's harmless. Everyone knows he can't say boo to a bat."

Harry huffed out a laugh. "But why would _Snape_ want the Stone, Hermione?"

"He's a Potions _Master_," she stressed. "He could rival Flamel for fame and glory if he had the Stone."

"Maybe," he couldn't, quite, fault her logic. "But doubtful. They're all professors here, they probably all had a hand in guarding the Stone. Which means Snape's had access to it before. Why didn't he steal it then?"

"But the Stone wasn't here until last summer. Surely it was Dumbledore who had it removed from the bank and brought it to the school. The Headmaster would have made the final line of defense. There would be no way for Snape to steal it from him, then."

"I don't know, Hermione."

"Just – we have to watch him, all right?"

"Only if you promise to watch Quirrell, too."

"But he's harmless!"

"A lot of things look harmless and end up being the most dangerous," he said. "Come on, it's late. We don't want to be caught out after curfew."

Hermione grumbled, but he got them back to the castle in time for the party in Gryffindor Tower. Neville had a black eye and a huge grin from fighting with Ron in the stands. Draco and Nott, Harry learned, had also taken part in the brawl. They were fine, though Nott had gotten a bloody nose by Seamus.

The Quidditch team was the star of Gryffindor that night. Harry let the excitement wash over him, taking the plate of cake that was pressed into his hands. His thoughts were a million miles away, a tangled nest of what had been and what was. _Things are so different, and yet so familiar, _he sighed, catching sight of Dean sneaking away several slices of cake for Ron and Seamus, who had refused to be part of the party. _Is _this_ what Ollivander meant when he said I had to do things differently this time around_?

His mind could not supply him with the answers he needed.


	18. Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Seventeen

In the weeks that followed, Hermione was on a sharp look out for Snape and Quirrell. They had informed Neville about what they had overheard; he, too, was skeptical about Snape being the one after the Stone. Harry suggested that they bring Draco and Nott into their confidences. Hermione flat-out refused, but he was working on her.

The Slytherins were aloof for the first few days after Gryffindor's win over Hufflepuff; but when Slytherin destroyed Ravenclaw, the House was in a much better mood. Harry noticed that the first years had broken up into cliques: Parkinson was the queen bee of the first year girls, Crabbe and Goyle had become lackeys of a fifth year boy Harry couldn't name, while Zabini seemed to stay neutral in the center. Draco and Nott were the most social of the Slytherins. Draco, really, Harry amended, was the most social of the Slytherins. Harry noted that the Malfoy heir was also making friends with a few Ravenclaw students as well. Not all of them were pure bloods, either, which quirked Harry's interest. _I wonder how Lucius is taking these signs of his son's independence_.

Hermione's vigilance, however, soon took a back seat to studying. The witch had started drawing up even more detailed study schedules and prodded them all into color coding their notes.

"Hermione," Neville said one spring afternoon in the library. "The exams are ages away."

"Ten weeks," Hermione snapped. "That's not ages. That's like a second to Nicolas Flamel."

"But we're not six-hundred-years old," Neville pointed out. "Anyway, what are you studying for, you already know it all."

"What am I studying for? Are you mad? You realize we need to pass these exams to get into second year? They're very important. I should have been studying a month ago. I don't know what's gotten into me…"

Harry had just hidden a smile and passed Neville the colored markers. _I hope this Hermione never changes_.

Harry had to admit, though, that Hermione's method of studying did have its advantages. Thanks to her, Harry had relearned all of the basics of his spell work, bit by bit, which made things from his murkier memories of his first life make much more sense. The small details about Transfiguration, for example, in the supplemental reading Hermione had forced upon them, helped Harry to beat out Draco for second spot in the lists for that class. Harry was best at Charms, still. They did not come as naturally to him as Defense Against the Dark Arts, but he worked harder at Charms because of it. He wanted that connection with his mother's memory, to be _like her_ in some way, instead of always being compared to his dad.

Their professors seemed to be thinking along the same lines as Hermione. They piled so much homework on them that the Easter holidays weren't nearly as much fun as Christmas. Harry and Neville did get Hermione out of the castle, tricking her into the spring sunshine by telling her that they needed to practice real charms, which Madam Pince wouldn't allow in the library.

"We should be studying," Hermione frowned at them as they encamped on the beach by the lake.

"We _are_ studying," Harry said. He peeled his robe off and folded it on top of his ratty book bag. He'd buy a new one next year, he promised himself.

"But…"

"Look, some of our exams are practical, right? The one sure way we can ace those is if we practice now."

Light dawned on Hermione's face. "Yes. Yes, that's brilliant, Harry!"

"Let's start with Charms, first. Then we can move on into the hard stuff."

"Charms is hard," Neville made a face.

"Not really. Here, where's our first semester list?" Harry ran Neville through the Charms they had learned, spell by spell. Hermione was content to work by herself to one side.

"Oh, I'll never remember all of this," Neville moaned.

Harry had an idea. It was originally Hermione's idea, to help Harry and Ron learn their schoolwork in Auror training in his first life. Harry pushed the ache of the memories aside and asked, "How about if we turn it into a game?"

"A game?" Hermione dropped the pebble she had levitated.

"Like tag or – or something. We come up with a number of Charms and a rule set and make a game out of it," Harry raised his eyebrows at them.

"A game," Hermione mused. "All right. But what kind of game?"

Harry thought fast. "How about we start with _Wingardium Leviosa_?"

"And?"

"We sketch out a giant backgammon game board. We have a small push spell, too, right? And we can Transfigure a rock into the dice, but you have to Transfigure it with every round so you can practice!"

Hermione and Neville were wary at first, but seemed game. They used their feet to sketch out a board on the sands of the beach. After they ran through the spells they needed, they started the game. Harry opted out of the first round – Hermione was _still_ trying to beat Neville at the game. The witch had only won twice in more than a dozen matches with the other Gryffindor.

After a few rounds, Neville seemed to relax. Hermione seemed unsure as to whether or not she should be having so much fun while studying, but relaxed more and more as her dice started to come easier and easier to her wand.

That was how Harry got the pair of them outside for every day of the Easter break. A lot of the students went home, but Hermione and Neville had opted to stay. Harry was just glad to be out in the sun instead of cooped up. He had always loved the spring.

It was in the middle of a match between Harry and Neville that Draco and Nott found them the day before classes started again.

"What are you doing?" Draco peered at them.

"We're playing backgammon!" Neville beamed a smile at them.

"It looks more like shuffleboard to me," said Nott.

"We're reviewing our term spells for Charms and Transfiguration," Hermione added. "See? We have to transfigure the game pieces circular, and then flatten them to discs. Then for the dice we have to transfigure squares, _and_ have the correct number pattern on them each time we roll."

Harry wanted to laugh at Nott's speculative expression.

"So you're studying and playing at the same time?" Draco lit up. "Can we play?"

"We'll need to find a game that has more than four players," Hermione said.

"I can sit out," Harry offered.

"Harry, no!" Hermione glared at him. "You're always sitting out for us. Let's find a game we can all take part in."

That was how they all ended up on the weekends near the lake, piecing together Muggle and wizarding games into a mish-mash free-for-all that combined Charms and Transfiguration. Harry loved it – and he could see how he could adapt it, later, for use in learning Defense spells and to help teach Dumbledore's Army.

_If we'll need the DA_, Harry frowned at the grim thought. _Maybe there will be a way to avoid all that mess and keep everyone out of it, this time_.

They still met in the library during the week, plowing through the piles of homework the professors heaped on their heads.

They were hip deep in an Herbology essay when Harry heard Hermione say, "Hagrid? What are you doing in the library?"

Harry glanced up to see Hagrid duck into the long row of books to avoid Madam Pince's stare.

"Oh, nothin'," Hagrid said. "What're you lot up ter?"

Harry caught Draco and Nott's suspicious expressions.

"We're studying," Neville said. "Looking up stuff."

"Yer not still lookin' for Nicolas Flamel, are yeh?"

"Nicolas Flamel?" Draco peered at them.

"Oh, we found out who he is," Neville said, eyes still on his Herbology paper. "And we think we know what Fluffy's guard- ow!" He dropped his quill. "Hermione that hurt!"

"Guarding?" Nott raised an eyebrow.

"Hush, now," Hagrid glanced between the Slytherins and Gryffindor first years. "You lot ain't supposed to – oh, fer Merlin's sake, don't go yellin' about it now."

"We are not the ones yelling," Draco pointed out. "And – what _are_ we talking about? Potter?"

"Malfoy?" Harry drawled back.

"Actually, Hagrid," Hermione said. "There were a few things I wanted to ask you about –"

"_Shh_," Hagrid shook his shaggy head. "Listen – come an' see me later. I'm not sayin' I'll tell you anything, mind, but don' go rabbitting about it in here, students aren't s'pposed ter know." Hagrid put a finger over his lips for good measure, gave them an intense look from under his brows and shuffled off, down the row of shelves to the side door where Madam Pince would not be able to see him leave.

"He had something behind his back," Nott leaned an elbow onto the table.

"A book?" Hermione asked.

"I'm not sure."

"He's supposed to check them out."

"So why would he take a book from the library without checking it out?"

_Merlin help us_, Harry wanted to mutter at the speculative look that passed between Hermione and Theodore Nott. _These two are a menace when they're together_.

"Just _what_ are you hiding, Potter?" Draco demanded.

"Hiding, _Malfoy_?"

Draco made a face. "You – you haven't told _us_ yet, Potter. Harry," he added at Harry's sharp glance.

"Not here," Harry said, closing his books.

"But our essays!" Hermione cried.

"Are due in a week. We can work on them later," Harry shook his head. "Come on."

Harry waited until they were out by the lake to talk. Enough of the student body – and the professors – had seen them out there to not immediately be suspicious at the sight of them gathered together.

"All right," Harry said to Draco's mulish expression. "This is what's been going on." He laid out the events that had snagged their speculation, about Fluffy, which the Slytherins knew about, about Hermione's suspicious about what Fluffy could be guarding, about Hagrid's slip of the tongue, and what they had found out about Flamel.

"It's not Professor Snape," Draco protested after Hermione laid out her theory.

"But it all fits!"

"It's all circumstantial," Nott snapped. "And besides, if Professor Snape really wanted this Stone – if there _is_ a treasure – he would have it already. Professor Snape is a Slytherin, Granger. He's loads more cunning than this."

Hermione made a face. "Maybe."

"_Maybe_? Of course he'd be able to –"

"Draco," Harry cut him off.

"He's an _amazing_ wizard," Draco waved his arms in the air. "He wouldn't _need_ a bloody Stone or whatever in the _first_ place!"

"He tried to kill Harry," Hermione snapped at Draco.

_Oh, Merlin_, Harry pinched the bridge of his nose.

"He did _not_."

"Did too!"

"Did not!"

"Did too! I saw him jinx Harry's broom with my own eyes! He was staring right _at _Harry, incanting!"

"That's how you counter-jinx something, you twit!"

"Hey!"

"Draco," Harry frowned.

"Snape _hates_ Harry," Hermione scowled at the Slytherins. "He's all over Gryffindor for the slightest infraction. He _mocked_ Harry on our first day of classes – it's obvious Snape's out to hurt him!"

"It is not," Draco retorted.

"Oh, yeah?"

"Yeah!"

"Is too!"

"Is not!"

"_Enough_," Harry had enough. Shocked eyes turned to him. "I, personally, am not convinced it's Snape who is after the Stone. Quirrell has just as much evidence against him."

Nott let out a snort.

"As far as Snape being out to kill me," Harry held up a hand as Draco was about to shout, "if he really wanted to kill me, there are a hundred better ways to finish me off rather than kick me off a broom. He's a Potions Master, right? He has dozens of poisonous herbs in his storerooms. Slipping something into my food would be the easiest method of my demise – not to mention that if he was really smart about it, Snape could probably poison me with something that left no trace and therefore ensure that he never got caught for my murder."

There was a long moment of silence.

"What?" Harry frowned at them.

Nott and Draco exchanged a glance. Hermione set her hands on her hips. "Harry, that is one of the most morbid things I have ever heard."

Harry shrugged. "It's just the truth."

Neville touched Harry's arm. "You haven't been sleeping well, mate. Is it because you've been thinking about this?"

_Time to change the subject_. "Look, I think there are a lot of facts that don't add up right. We just need to keep our eyes open. I think we can _all_ agree that _someone_ seems to be after the Stone."

"If there is a Stone," Nott said.

"I still think it's Snape," Hermione protested.

"It could be anybody," Draco snapped.

"Exactly," Harry said. "So that's what we've been up to," he shrugged. "Now you know."

Draco squinted at Harry, took a breath, hesitated, glanced at Nott, who shrugged and then said, "Can we come to Hagrid's with you?"

Harry blinked. "Sure. If you want."

"Good," said Nott. That was all they would say on the matter.

* * *

They knocked on the door of the gamekeeper's hut an hour later. Harry had insisted on putting his things away, not wanting to haul all his books, inks and quills around for the rest of the afternoon.

They were ushered in by a shifty-eyed Hagrid. Harry hid a smile at the way Draco gaped at the room, eyes huge as he took in the living space, the game skins hanging from the walls and everything else in Hagrid's home. Nott was a bit more composed, but not by much.

It was stifling hot inside. Hagrid offered them tea and stout sandwiches as they sat on the stuffed couches and armchairs.

"No, thank you," Draco said, voice faint.

Hagrid stood in front of the fire, a fine sheen of sweat on his broad face. "So…yeh wanted to ask me somethin'?"

"Yes," said Hermione. "We were wondering if you would tell us what's guarding the Sorcerer's Stone, apart from Fluffy."

Harry caught Nott's wince and the way the Slytherin covered his eyes.

Hagrid frowned at them. "O' course I can't. Number one, I don' know meself. Number two, yeh know too much already, so I wouldn' tell yeh if I could. That Stone's there for a good reason. It was almost stolen outta Gringott's – I s'ppose yeh've worked that out an' all? Beats me how yeh even know abou' Fluffy."

"Come now, Hagrid," Nott said. "You might not want to tell us, but you _do_ know, you know everything that goes on around here." Nott gave the man wide, innocent eyes. Harry wanted to snort and laugh at the same time.

"Besides," Hermione seemed to pick up on Nott's idea. "We're only wondering who had _done_ the guarding, really. We wondered who Dumbledore had trusted enough to help him, apart from you."

There was a flush to Hagrid's cheeks. "Well, I don' s'ppose it could hurt to tell yeh that. Let's see…he borrowed Fluffy from me, then some o' the teachers did the enchantments. Professor Sprout, Professor Flitwick, Professor McGonagall," he ticked them off on his fingers. "Professor Quirrell an' Dumbledore, himself did something o' course. Hang on, I've forgotten someone. Oh yeah, Professor Snape."

"Snape?" Hermione yelped. Draco shot them a 'there, you see?' glance.

"Yeah – yer not still on about that, are yeh? Look, Snape helped _protect_ the Stone, he's not about ter steal it."

"Thank you, Hagrid. That's what we've been trying to tell them," Draco rolled his eyes.

"Still," Hermione frowned. "It would be easy to get past the protections if you already knew what they were, right? Please tell me, Hagrid, that you're the only one who knows how to get past Fluffy, right? You haven't told anyone, not even the teachers?"

"Not a soul knows except me an' Dumbledore," said Hagrid.

"Well, that's something," Neville tugged at his collar. "Hagrid, can we open a window? I'm boiling."

"Can't Neville, sorry," Hagrid twisted a glance at the fire.

"What's _that_?" Draco sounded awed.

Harry already knew what they'd find. In the very heart of the fire, underneath the kettle, was a huge, black egg.

"Ah," said Hagrid. "That's ah, er…"

"Where did you get it?" Draco was on his knees by the hearth in a flash.

"Won it," said Hagrid. "Las' night. I was down in the village havin' a few drinks an' got into a game o' cards with a stranger. Think he was quite glad ter get rid of it, ter be honest."

"But what are you going to do with it when it's hatched?" asked Neville.

"Well, I've been doin' some readin'," Hagrid crossed the room and pulled a large book from under his pillow. "Got this outta the library – Dragon Breeding for Pleasure and Profit – it's a bit outta date, o' course, but it's all in here."

"May I see?" Draco crowded up to him.

"Sure. See? Keep the egg in the fire, 'cause their mothers breathe on 'em, an' when it hatches, feed it a bucket o' brandy mixed with chicken blood every half hour. An' see here," Hagrid and Draco were bent over the book. "This here, how ter recognize diff'rent eggs. What I got there's a Norwegian Ridgeback."

"They're _rare_," Draco breathed.

Neville looked a bit queasy. Hermione was pinching the bridge of her nose. Nott looked about ready to join her.

"Hagrid, you live in a _wooden house_," she exclaimed.

Neither Draco nor Hagrid were listening. The pair were crouched by the fire, pointing at the egg and then at a table in the book, oblivious to the rest of them.

_Merlin, what have I done_, was all Harry could think, staring at the two of them.

* * *

Harry had the oddest sense of displaced déjà vu over the following weeks. Instead of it being Ron and Hermione who tromped with him out to Hagrid's hut at every available opportunity, it was Neville and Hermione who accompanied him.

Only to find, usually, that a certain pair of Slytherins had beaten them there first.

All Harry could do was sit back and watch Draco interact with Hagrid. The gamekeeper had been wary of the boy at first – but it was Draco's enthusiasm for the egg, for petting Fang and general _interest_ in the creatures around Hogwarts that won the man over. That wasn't to say that Draco's mouth and attitude didn't get away from him – it did, from time to time. But, the thing Harry noticed, was that every time Hagrid retorted at Draco, Malfoy seemed to _listen_.

It came to Harry one afternoon after Draco had been sent outside the hut to cool off after shouting at Harry that Draco _wanted_ Hagrid's attention – and the gamekeeper gave the Slytherin attention, positive attention. Harry shook his head. _Was that all the brat really needed, the first time_? _Someone to pay attention, real attention to him, not just lip service, the first time around_?

Harry made a face, staring off into the distance. _I always thought Draco adored his father – but what if I was wrong, if we were all wrong? Yes, Draco's spoiled, but I've never seen anyone but Narcissa Malfoy send him packages or letters. The few times I _did_ see Draco with his father_…Harry frowned. Draco was so _stiff_. Was he trying to impress the man? Live up to expectations? Draco had never been like that with Scorpius.

Harry had to put the disturbing thoughts on the back burner, for now. He was hip deep in trying to keep the other first years in their House from noticing their sudden interest in Hagrid's hut.

Then, one breakfast time, Hedwig brought Harry another note. It had only two words. _It's hatching_.

Draco was at his side before Harry could do more than stand up from the table. "What is it? Is it from Hagrid?"

Harry handed Draco the note. The Slytherin wanted to skip class and go straight down to the hut. Hermione wouldn't hear of it.

"Are you mad, Granger? How many times in our lives are we going to see a dragon hatching?"

Harry herded them out into the hall to avoid the curious glances they were gathering from the student body. And Ron's suspicious glare.

"We've got lessons, we'll get into trouble and that's nothing to what Hagrid's going to be in when someone finds out what he's doing." Hermione folded her arms over her chest.

"Hush," Harry grabbed Hermione's arm.

Draco spun around. Ron was only a few feet away, staring at them. "I _knew_ you were friends with these slimy Slytherins."

"Shut up, Weasel," Draco snarled.

"What's this, now?" The twins appeared behind their brother.

"Nothing," Harry cut in before Draco could start shouting at Ron. "We're on our way to class."

Harry and Neville had to herd Hermione and Draco away from Ron. The two bickered all the way until the Gryffindors and Slytherins had to part for the separate classes. Even then it took Nott to drag the blond away. In the end, with Nott's persuasion of Draco, they had reluctantly agreed to run down to Hagrid's hut during the morning break.

Minutes after the bell, Hagrid greeted the lot of them, looking flushed and excited. "It's nearly out," he said.

The egg was lying on the table. There were deep cracks in it. Something was moving inside; a funny clicking noise was coming from it.

Draco had pushed up next to Hagrid as they all drew up chairs to watch.

All at once there was a scraping noise and the egg split open. The baby dragon flopped onto the table.

"Oh, my," Hermione's voice was faint.

It sneezed. A couple of sparks flew out of its nose.

"Isn't he beautiful?" Draco's eyes were huge.

Hagrid reached out a hand to stroke the dragon's head. It snapped at his fingers, showing pointed fangs. "Bless him, look, he knows his mommy!"

Even Draco gave the man a disbelieving glance.

"Hagrid," ventured Hermione. "How fast do Norwegian Ridgebacks grow, exactly?"

Hagrid was about to answer when the color suddenly drained from his face. He leapt to his feet and ran to the window.

"What is it?" Neville asked, standing.

"Someone was lookin' through the gap in the curtains – it's a kid – he's runnin' back up ter the school."

Harry and Draco collided at the door. They both peered out. Even at a distance there was no mistaking him.

"The Weasel," Draco spat.

"Well, shit," Harry said.

"Harry!" Hermione cried. "Language!"

* * *

When Ron didn't go straight to the teachers, Harry started to worry. The Weasley tendency for pranks and retaliation Harry knew, all too well. The week stretched on and Ron had yet to make his move, causing Harry's nerves to start to jangle.

Ron's silence – and smirks – made the Slytherins nervous as well. The lot of them spent most of their free time in Hagrid's darkened hut, most of them trying to reason with the man. Draco was content to stare, enraptured, at the dragon.

"Just let him go," Harry urged. "Let him be free."

"I can't," blubbered Hagrid. "He's too little. He'd die."

They looked at the dragon. It had grown three times in length in just a week. Smoke kept fueling out of its nostrils.

"I've decided to call him Norbert," Hagrid wiped at his face. "He really knows me now, watch. Norbert! Norbert! Where's Mommy?"

"Mommy?" Harry heard Neville choke out.

"Hagrid," Nott threw his hands in the air. "Give it two weeks and Norbert's going to be as long as your house. Someone is bound to notice him then and you'll get sacked!"

Hagrid bit his lip. "I know I can't keep him forever, but I can't jus' dump him. I can't."

Draco snapped his fingers and sat up. He twisted around to look at Harry. "Doesn't the Weasel have an older brother who works with dragons?"

Harry stared. "How did you know that?"

"Hagrid told me."

"That's right, Charlie," Hagrid's gloomy expression brightened. "He helped me the last two years at Hogwarts. Wanted to learn about magical creatures and the sort. Right good bit of trainin' for him, too, as I remember. Got into his job without having to attend university because of his trainin' with me."

"There are jobs where you can work with magical animals all day long?" Draco's eyes went wide.

"Sure there are. There's a whole Ministry department devoted to 'em. O' course there are a whole lot of silly laws, but…"

"Charlie would know how to take care of Norbert," Hermione butted in. "But – how do we contact him?"

"I'll write him," Harry said. "I'm friends with the twins – I know they send letters off to him from time to time. I'm sure Fred and George will help us."

* * *

The Weasley twins were eager to help with contacting Charlie and in keeping their youngest brother out of the way – once they found out why Harry needed to speak to the elder Weasley. The following week dragged by. Wednesday night found Hermione, Neville and Harry sitting alone in the common room, long after everyone else had gone to bed. Hermione had been insistent that they stay up on their study schedules – on top of helping Hagrid with Norbert every chance they could get.

Neville was halfway asleep on his essay when there was a tap on the dark window.

"It's Hedwig," Harry said, hurrying to let her in. "She'll have Charlie's answer." He spread the note on the able. Hermione poked Neville's shoulder to rouse him.

_Dear Harry_, it read_. Fred and George told me about your predicament. I'd be glad to take the Norwegian Ridgeback, but it won't be easy getting him here. I think the best thing will be to send him over with some friends of mine who are coming to visit me next week. Trouble is, they mustn't be seen carrying an illegal dragon. Could you get the Ridgeback up the tallest tower at midnight on Saturday? They can meet you there and take him away while it's still dark. Send me an answer as soon as possible. Charlie Weasley._

"We've got the invisibility cloak," Harry tapped a finger against his chin. "It shouldn't be too difficult."

"Let's see what the others think," Hermione frowned. "They _are_ Slytherins, after all. Surely something like this would be right up their alley."

Harry had to cough to hide his laughter.

* * *

Fred and George insisted on accompanying them to Hagrid's hut after Harry showed them Charlie's letter. Draco was furious for even _more_ people knowing about Norbert – but Nott calmed the Malfoy heir down with a reasonable suggestion that the two older Gryffindors would be the best ones to haul the dragon up the tower stairs.

"No," said George.

"I think not," said Fred. "We've heard plenty of stories about these beasts from Charlie."

"But can you at least help us?" Harry cut in before Draco could start shouting.

The twins exchanged a glance. "Getting you lot past Filch will be difficult. We can take care of him, no problem."

"Thanks," Harry let out a breath.

"You still need an extra set of hands to get him up the stairs," Draco pointed out.

"We can manage."

"We'll help you," Nott nudged Draco with his elbow. "Won't we?"

The blond made a face, but nodded. "I _would_ like to see Norbert off," he added.

"You hear that Norbert?" Hagrid cooed at the beast. "Mommy's goin' to take good care of yeh, yes he is, yes he is. Ow!"

Harry shared a look with Neville. "Saturday can't come soon enough," the other boy muttered.

* * *

Fred and George slipped out first to scout the way. Harry and Neville went to Hagrid's hut to find Nott and Draco helping Hagrid finish up Norbert's preparation. Hermione opted to stay behind, to keep a lookout for trouble in the common room and to let them in, later, if the Fat Lady was gone from her post.

"He's got lots o' rats an' some brandy fer the journey," Hagrid was telling Draco. "An' I've packed his teddy bear in case he gets lonely."

Harry rolled his eyes and stepped forward. "Ready?"

"Good bye, Norbert," Hagrid sobbed, as Harry and Neville covered the crate with the invisibility cloak.

"You have an invisibility cloak," Nott said, voice flat.

"Ah, yes," Harry scratched at the back of his head. "Didn't I tell you that? It was my father's. Someone gave it to me for Christmas."

"You mean they'd _kept_ it from you all this time?" Draco looked aghast.

"Uh, yeah?"

"We need to go," Neville said, looking between the crate and the sobbing gamekeeper.

"Right," Harry lifted the edge of the cloak and slipped under. It took some maneuvering, but Draco and Neville squeezed in, too.

"I can't fit," Nott said.

"It's all right," Harry panted. "We got it."

How they had managed to get Norbert back up to the castle the first time, Harry didn't know. The second time seemed easier, if only for Malfoy's ease with spells and flat refusal to actually _carry_ the beast up the stairs.

"What's magic for, then? I'm not some kind of common laborer," Draco had spat.

Harry rolled his eyes, but took over the spell. It was draining to keep the dragon afloat and covered, as well as keeping them all from being detected.

"Nearly there!" Neville whispered as they reached the corridor beneath the tallest tower. Nott had come with them, as far as the stairs down to the Slytherin dorms, where he would wait to let Draco in, in case something happened.

A sudden movement ahead of them made Harry almost drop the crate. Draco grabbed Harry's arm, but Neville was the one to clap a hand over the Slytherin's mouth to keep him from making a noise.

A lamp flared. Professor McGonagall in a tartan bathrobe and a hair net had Ron by the ear.

"Detention," she snapped. "And twenty points from Gryffindor! What did you think you were doing, young man, setting up a prank like that…"

"You don't understand, Professor! I was trying to help you catch them in the act! Potter's coming – with _Malfoy_ – they've got a _dragon_."

"What utter rubbish. How dare you tell such lies! Come along, back to the dormitory for you!"

Neville pushed them both forward once McGonagall had dragged Ron off.

"You didn't have to smother me," Draco snapped at Neville once the Gryffindor let his hand drop.

"You were about to bolt."

"I was _not_."

"Were too."

"Hush," Harry said.

"How did the Weasel know about the plan?"

"Would you call him Ron?"

"No, I shan't."

Harry snorted.

"He must have found out, somehow."

"Who knows," Harry shook his head. "Ron might have pieced it together from what the twins have said, maybe Charlie wrote to him, I don't know. But he got McGonagall out of our way. So come on. It's almost midnight."

They got to the top of the tower with minutes to spare. Harry made sure to shrink and stuff the cloak into his pocket, not intending to lose it this time around.

At the stroke of midnight, four broomsticks came swooping down out of the darkness. Charlie's friends were a cheery lot. Draco's eyes were huge as he took in their leather jackets and questionable taste in jewelry. They showed off the harness they'd rigged up, so they could suspend Norbert between them. They all helped buckle Norbert safely into it, all the while Draco gave them a solemn lecture about proper dragon safety and procedure. Harry thought he saw a few of the men hide indulgent smiles behind their scarves.

Charlie's friends all thanked them, even shaking hands with a pink-faced Malfoy, and then they were off.

"Oh, man," Harry slumped as Norbert's crate vanished into the night. "Thank Merlin that's over."

"You think we'll ever see a dragon again?" Draco had moved to the edge of the tower, eyes on the spot where their visitors had vanished. For a moment, the memories in Harry's mind tried to surface – of a different tower and a different night. He pushed away the painful lot with a quick, sharp shake of the head. The lingering ache made his teeth throb.

"Yes," Harry managed to say when Neville turned to look at him. "I think we'll see a dragon again. Somehow." He couldn't help the wry smile.

"I'd like that," Draco murmured.

"I wouldn't," Neville shook his head. "One dragon is plenty."

"Come on," Harry pulled the cloak out of his pocket and swung it over his shoulders. "Let's go before the twins get caught by Filch."

Gryffindor Tower was closest – but Draco threw a fit about sneaking back to Slytherin dormitory by himself. Harry and Neville bowed to the blond's tantrum and eased past an oblivious Peeves, down an eerie corridor, around a pile of unsettled armor –

And right into Snape as the man strode through the darkness, straight into them.

"_What _is this?" Snape snarled. His hand flashed out, yanked at the cloak. Harry yanked it back, but the damage had been done. Snape had seen them all.


	19. Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Eighteen

"_You_."

Harry flinched away from the man. "I – I –," his mind went blank.

"Just what are you doing, Potter? Playing some prank? Some silly nonsense on your rival House? An attempt to be just like your father, you –"

"I never knew my father!" Harry's temper snapped. "All I've ever heard from you lot is how wonderful he is, how much I must want to be like him – but all I'd ever been told about him was that he was a miserable drunk who wrecked the car and killed him and Mum together! _That's_ what I was told about him, for _years_!" The silence stretched. Harry screwed his eyes shut, chest heaving as he tried to calm down. _Just snap, Harry, wonderful idea. That was just bloody brilliant, you idiotic, stupid jackass_.

"Twenty points from Slytherin," Snape said, voice soft as snakeskin. "One hundred points from Gryffindor. You all will have detention."

"But…"

"No, Mr. Malfoy."

"A hundred –"

"Your protest will cost you more, Mr. Longbottom."

Harry opened his eyes. Snape's dark gaze was focused on him. Harry gulped and looked away.

"As for your father, Mr. Potter," Snape drew himself up. "You can be sure of one thing: he was not a drunk."

"I figured that out, thanks."

"Is that cheek, Mr. Potter?"

"No, sir," Harry curled his hands into fists, feeling his nails cut into his palms.

"Mr. Potter and Mr. Longbottom, you will stay right here while I escort Mr. Malfoy to his dormitory. Then we shall be making a trip to Professor McGonagall's office. If you move, I will take more points."

Harry kept his eyes on the ground as Snape led Draco off. Harry folded up his cloak, shrunk it and stuffed it in his pocket, hoping – praying – that Snape would forget about it.

"Harry?" Neville sounded hesitant.

"Yeah?"

"Is…is that true? What you said?"

Harry let out a breath and scrubbed his hands over his face. "My aunt and uncle don't…don't like magic. I think my mum and dad scared them. I was never to ask about them. I only found out what they looked like this year." Harry dropped his hands. "Aunt Petunia won't talk about Mum at all. Not even about when they were little. Uncle Vernon blew a gasket when I found some old albums in the attic. Aunt Petunia burned all the pictures of Mum before I had a chance to see them."

Harry glanced up at Neville as the boy touched his arm. "I'm sorry, mate."

Harry took in a breath, held it and then blew out a raspberry. "Well, no use in feeling sorry for myself, so don't worry about it. I've asked Dumbledore if anyone has photos of my mum and dad. Maybe I can get copies. Then I'll have," Harry shrugged. "Proof, or something. Evidence that they really did live."

"How very Gryffindor of you, Mr. Potter," Snape said, striding out from the shadows. "Come along. We must see Minerva."

Professor McGonagall was in a fit to be tied when Snape delivered them into her care. "I would never have believed it of you two, especially _you_, Mr. Potter. Your father –"

"Did many of the same things," Snape drawled. "And was _rewarded_ for it, or don't you remember, Minerva?"

"_Severus_," McGonagall snarled, and then paused. "That was a different time, a different –"

"Yes, yes," Snape's tone was snotty. "I have delivered your little rule breakers _and_ taken points. They both have detention, along with Mr. Malfoy, who had the dubious luck to be caught with them." Snape made a disapproving noise. "I'll leave you to it, then."

McGonagall was still sputtering as she marched them back to the dormitory.

A hundred and twenty points lost, Harry thought as he and Neville climbed into bed. _We're in last place again – but at least Slytherin fell out of first as well. Ravenclaw is above both of us_.

Harry's sleep was peppered with nightmares. He felt like someone had taken a hammer to him by the time he dragged his body out of bed.

Hermione wormed the whole story out of them at breakfast. Harry caught sight of Nott and Draco also having an early breakfast, the blond with distinct shadows under his eyes. Harry winced as the Malfoy eagle-owl glided into the hall as the other Slytherins started to trickle in for breakfast, with more than a few nasty glares at Draco in the process. _Word must have already spread_, Harry sighed.

As for Gryffindor, disbelief was their first reaction as they passed the giant hourglass that recorded the House points. Fred and George were apologetic.

"Mate, that's tough luck. We never thought about distracting Snape," said George.

Harry ducked his head and shrugged. Neville looked miserable as the House's disbelief turned to anger.

From being one of the most popular and admired people at the school, Harry was suddenly the most hated. The Slytherins jinxed him in the halls, and even the Hufflepuffs turned on him. The Ravenclaw house was all smug smiles and elaborate thanks as Harry walked past them on the way to classes.

Hermione and Neville stood by him. Even Ron, who'd had a helping hand in losing the House points, was forgotten in everyone's anger at Harry. Fred and George were a help, even going as far as to break up a bunch of older Slytherin students who had been harassing Draco and Nott. Neither first year had been appreciative – at least until Fred and George showed them a few second year jinxes to use on their future attackers.

Harry was afraid that the Quidditch team would react like they'd had the first time around. Wood went off on a fifteen minute rant, but to Harry's surprise, he was still – grudgingly – accepted by the team. He had a sneaking suspicion that he had Fred and George to thank for that.

Hermione and Neville were suffering, too. They didn't have as bad a time as Harry, because Neville wasn't as well-known, but Hermione had been lumped in with them by association. No one would speak to them, either. Hermione had stopped drawing attention to them in class, once it proved that their instructors were still angry with them and any notice by the other students got them teased in the halls.

Harry was glad the exams weren't far away. The three Gryffindors buried themselves in the library – along with Draco and Nott, who continued to study with them.

"Are you sure that's wise?" Harry had asked the first time the Slytherins had rejoined the Gryffindors. "You're already in hot water as it is with your House."

"Leave off," Draco had snapped. The blond had been suspiciously red-eyed the whole day after the Malfoy eagle-owl had delivered its letter. "_I_ chose to help you. _I _chose to help Hagrid. _I_ am not some sniveling coward who cuts and runs when things are difficult. We can finesse this," Draco had tossed his head. "After all, I'm a _Malfoy_. The House will have its own problems with me if they…_continue_."

Harry had noted the way Nott had given Draco a small, approving nod. _Looks like this friendship really is good for Draco_, Harry had thought, before diving back into his studies.

They were walking through the halls about a week before the exams were due to start when they heard somebody whimpering from a classroom up ahead. Hermione grabbed Harry's arm and yanked – even Neville was hot on the witch's heels as they hustled to the door.

"No – no – not again – please…"

_Quirrell_, Harry stamped down on his automatic sneer.

"All right – all right -," Quirrell sobbed. Harry yanked Hermione back as the Defense professor came hurrying out of the classroom, straightening his turban. The man didn't even see them. Harry glared at the back of his head, right where Voldemort sat, hoping the disgusting old snake was having a miserable, horrid afterlife and –

"It must have been Snape again!" Hermione twisted out of his hold and darted into the room. "Look," he heard her call. "The other door's ajar. He must have left that way."

"Hermione," Harry wanted to groan. He followed Neville into the room.

"Snape must have tried to force Quirrell to tell him how to break his protection spell," Hermione glared at the far wall. "If he breaks Quirrell…"

"There's still Fluffy, though," said Neville.

Hermione chewed on her lower lip. "We should go to Dumbledore," she said. "That's probably what we should have done ages ago. If we try anything ourselves, we'll be thrown out for sure."

"With what proof, and about whom?" Harry countered. "We can't _prove_ it's Snape, it's our word against his and even I'm not convinced."

"Oh, _Harry_."

"He's right, Hermione," Neville said. "Snape's only got to say he doesn't know how the troll got in at Halloween and that he was no where near the third floor – who do you think they would believe, him or us? He's an adult _and_ a professor – and he's been mean to us in class. They'll just say we're making it up to get him sacked."

"He should be sacked," Hermione muttered.

"Let's leave off for now," Harry insisted. "Until we can be absolutely sure who the culprit is." _If he shows his hand_, Harry added. _He might or might not. I just have to be ready. I can do this – and keep my friends safe, too_.

* * *

The following morning, notes were delivered to Harry and Neville at the breakfast table. Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw Ron receive one, too. Harry and Neville's were the same.

It read:_ Your detention will take place at eleven o'clock tonight. Meet Mr. Filch in the entrance hall_. It was signed by Professor McGonagall.

"Eleven," Hermione snatched Harry's note from his hand. "What are they thinking? We're first years. Why have detention in the middle of the night?"

"No clue," Harry shrugged and set to his food. Neville picked at his.

Draco and Nott found them at lunch. "Did you get a note about detention, too?" Draco demanded.

"Yeah," Neville was still miserable.

"I don't know what they are thinking," Hermione said. "Eleven at night? _Really_. There ought to be laws against punishments like that. There are in the Muggle world."

Harry had to turn away before he began to laugh at the peculiar expression sliding across Draco's face.

At eleven o'clock that night, Harry and Neville said goodbye to Hermione and headed for the entrance hall. Ron barreled past them as they were stepping out of the portrait hole – Harry glanced back to see Fred and George making faces at him from the stairwell.

Ron kept ahead of them all the way to the meeting point. Filch was already there – as was Draco. Harry saw Ron's gait check as the other Gryffindor caught sight of the Slytherin.

"I bet you'll think twice about breaking a school rule again, won't you, eh?" Filch said before Ron could start a fight with Draco. "Oh, yes…hard work and pain are the best teachers if you ask me. It's just a pity they let the old punishments die out. Hang you by the wrists from the ceiling for a few days, that's my favorite. I've got the chains still in my office, keep 'em oiled in case they're needed. Right, off we go, and don't think of running off, now, it'll be worse for you if you do."

Filch swept past them. Harry caught Draco's wide-eyed gaze and made a face. The blond blinked and then snorted. They all tromped after Filch, cutting their way across the dark grounds. The moon was bright, but clouds scudding across it kept throwing them into darkness. Ahead, Harry could see the lighted windows of Hagrid's hut. Then they heard a distant shout.

"Is that you, Filch? Hurry up, I want ter get started."

Harry heard Ron's relieved sigh. So did Filch. "I suppose you think you'll be enjoying yourself with that oaf?" Filch laughed. "Well, think again, boy – it's into the Forest you're going, and I'm much mistaken if you'll all come out in one piece."

"Hagrid's not an oaf," Draco snapped at the man.

"The Forest?" Ron blurted. "We can't go in there at night. Fred and George said there are werewolves in there!"

"Werewolves?" Draco repeated.

"That's your problem, isn't it?" Filch said. "Should've thought of them werewolves before you got in trouble, shouldn't you?"

Hagrid came striding toward them out of the dark, Fang at his heels. He was carrying his large crossbow and a quiver of arrows hung over his shoulder.

"About time," he said. "I bin waitin' fer half an hour already. All right there, lads?"

"I wouldn't be too friendly to them, Hagrid," said Filch. "They're here to be punished, after all."

"That's why yer late, is it?" Hagrid frowned at Filch. "Bin lecturin' them, eh? 'Snot your place ter do that. Yeh've done yer bit, I'll take over from here"

"I'll be back at dawn," said Filch with a sneer. "For what's left of them." The man's lamp bobbed away in the darkness as he marched back up to the castle.

"The _Forest_, Hagrid?" Draco said. "But – but – I thought we'd be copying lines or something."

"That's how it is at Hogwarts, lad," Hagrid shook his head. "Copyin' lines! What good's that ter anyone? Yeh'll do summat useful or yeh'll get out, that's the way it's always been."

"I'm sure if you wrote your daddy you could have gotten out of this," Ron sneered.

Draco whipped around. "Why you –"

"Now see here, Ronald Weasley," Hagrid growled. "I'll have none of that. Young Draco here's a good lad. He wouldn't go runnin' ter his father over summat like this."

Draco's mouth snapped shut as he turned large eyes to Hagrid.

"Yeh'll get along and pay attention now," Hagrid continued. "It's dangerous what we're gonna do tonight, an' I don' want no one takin' risks. Follow me over here a moment."

Hagrid led them to the very edge of the Forest where a narrow, winding path disappeared into the trees. Harry felt Neville crowd up beside him and he patted the other boy on the arm. Harry had no fear of the Forest, not anymore. That long walk into the woods to offer himself to Voldemort had banished all fear he'd had for the place.

_And to think, here I am with Neville yet again_, Harry glanced at the other boy.

"Look here," said Hagrid, drawing Harry's attention to the present. "See that stuff shinin' on the ground? Silvery stuff? That's unicorn blood. There's a unicorn in there bin hurt badly by summat. This the second time in a week. I found one dead last Wednesday. We're gonna try and find the poor thing. We might have ter put it out of its misery."

"But what if the hurt unicorn finds us first?" Draco inched closer to the man.

"There's nothin' that lives in the Forest that'll hurt yeh if yer with me or Fang," said Hagrid. "An' keep to the path. Right, now, we're gonna split inter two parties an' follow the trail in diff'rent directions. There's blood all over the place, it must've been staggerin' around since last night at least."

"I want Fang," Ron blurted out. He had a tight hold on the hound's collar.

"All right, but I warn yeh, he's a coward," said Hagrid. "So me, Harry an' Draco will go one way an' Ron, Neville an' Fang'll go the other."

"But -," Neville whimpered.

"It'll be fine," Harry told him. "Really, I promise."

"Right he is," Hagrid said. "Now, if any of us find the unicorn, we'll send up green sparks. Get yer wands out an' practice now – that's it, Draco – an' if anyone gets in trouble, send up red sparks an' we'll all come an' find yeh. So be careful. Let's go."

The Forest was black and silent. A little way into it, they reached a fork in the earthen path. Harry, Draco and Hagrid took the left path while Ron, Neville and Fang took the right.

Harry waved encouragingly at Neville as the other boy looked back at them with mournful eyes. Harry caught Draco giving Neville a wave, too.

Hagrid took the lead. They walked in silence, their eyes on the ground. Every now and then a ray of moonlight through the branches above lit a spot of silver-blue blood on the fallen ground.

Draco was right on Hagrid's heels. "_Could_ a werewolf be killing unicorns?" The blond tugged at Hagrid's arm.

"Not fast enough," said Hagrid. "It's not easy ter catch a unicorn. They're powerful magic creatures. I never know one ter be hurt before."

"But you've hunted things in the Forest before, right?"

"Eh, not so much. Yeh see, Draco, most of the magic creatures in here just want ter be left alone. Almost all o' them can communicate. Yeh just have ter know how."

"Really?"

"Really."

"But werewolves are dangerous. Professor Snape says so."

"An' he's right. Dangerous things can be smart an' talk, too."

_Don't I know_, Harry wanted to say. He watched as Draco peppered the man with more questions. Hagrid answered them all, even if the answer was he didn't know. It was…_strange_ to see Draco staring up at the man, eyes wide and earnest as Hagrid stopped and pointed at a bush, explaining why it was important and how to use the signs on it to track a hurt creature to the Malfoy heir.

_Will this change the future_? Harry ducked his head, watching the two. _How does this change the path Draco takes from here on out? How does it change mine_?

"All right there, Harry?" Hagrid turned around. "Yeh've been quiet."

"Just thinking," he shrugged at Draco's look.

They continued deeper into the woods. They walked past a mossy tree stump. Harry could hear running water near by. There were still spots of unicorn blood here and there along the winding path.

Draco stumbled. Harry caught him before he could fall, the both of them almost going down in the poor light and narrow path.

"All right there, Draco?" Hagrid whispered. "Don' worry, it can't be far now if it's this badly hurt, an' then we'll be able ter – GET BEHIND THAT TREE!"

Hagrid grabbed Harry and Draco and hoisted them off the path behind a towering oak. He pushed out an arrow and fitted it to his crossbow and raised it, ready to fire. Harry grunted as Draco latched onto him. The three of them listened. Something was slithering over dead leaves nearby: it sounded like a cloak trailing along the ground. Harry clenched his hands into fists, torn between running after the specter of Voldemort and staying put. Hagrid was squinting up the dark path, but after a few seconds, the sound faded away.

"I knew it," the groundskeeper murmured. "There's summat in here that shouldn't be."

"A werewolf?" Draco suggested.

"That weren't no werewolf an' it wasn' no unicorn, neither," said Hagrid. "Right, follow me, but careful now."

Hagrid took point, with Draco on his heels, one hand fisted in the man's coat. Harry had his wand out, ears perked, eyes cutting from side to side. _Auror training was good for something_, he bit back a smile. Harry tensed as something moved in the clearing ahead.

"Who's there?" Hagrid called. "Show yerself. I'm armed!"

_The centaurs_, Harry felt a lance of pain through his head. He rubbed at his temple, feeling the dull ache and throb start up a tempo to the beat of his heart. They entered the clearing.

"Oh, it's you Ronan," said Hagrid. "How are yeh?" He walked forward and shook the centaur's hand.

"Good evening to you, Hagrid," Ronan said. "Were you going to shoot me?"

"Can't be too careful, Ronan," said Hagrid, patting his crossbow. "There's summat bad loose in this forest. This here is Harry Potter an' Draco Malfoy, by the way. Students up at the school. An' this here is Ronan, you two. He's a centaur."

"Hello," Draco said, voice faint.

"Good evening," said Ronan. "Students, are you? And do you learn much, up at this school?"

"We do," Draco squeaked and then ducked his head. Harry could see the flush covering his face.

"Well, that's good," Ronan sighed. He flung back his head and stared at the sky. "Mars is bright tonight."

"Yeah," said Hagrid, glancing up. "Listen, I'm glad we've run inter yeh, Ronan, 'cause there's a unicorn bin hurt – you seen anythin'?"

Ronan stood still as a statue for a long moment. "Always the innocent are the first victims," he lowered his eyes. Harry felt pinned by the heavy gaze. "Am I not correct, Harry Potter?"

"No, you're right," Harry croaked. He could feel Hagrid and Draco's stares.

"Mars is bright tonight," Ronan repeated.

"Yes," Harry said. "I know."

Ronan gave him a slow nod.

"Have yeh seen a hurt unicorn, then?" Hagrid asked after looking between them.

Ronan blinked and Harry drew in a sharp breath. He'd forgotten how powerful a centaur's gaze could be.

"I mean," Hagrid continued. "You seen anythin' unusual around here? Anythin' strange?"

A small, moaning wind swept through the clearing. "The Forest hides many secrets," Ronan said.

Harry noticed movement in the trees behind Ronan, but it was only a second centaur, black haired and bodied, wilder-looking than Ronan.

"Hello, Bane," said Hagrid. "All right?"

"Good evening, Hagrid." The centaur gave the gamekeeper a nod. "I hope you are well?"

"Well enough. Look, I've jus' bin askin' Ronan here, you seen anythin' odd in here lately? There's a unicorn bin injured – would yeh know anythin' about it?"

Bane walked over to stand next to Ronan. He looked skyward. "Mars is bright tonight."

"We've heard," Hagrid muttered. Harry noted the irritated scowl. "Well, if either of you do see anythin', let me know, won't yeh? We'll be off, then."

Harry trailed after Hagrid and Draco, feeling Ronan's gaze on his back. Draco kept twisting around to stare at the centaurs, until the trees blocked his view.

"Never," Hagrid grumbled, "try an' get a straight answer out of a centaur. Ruddy stargazers. Not interested in anythin' closer'n the moon."

"Were they some of the creatures you were talking about, Hagrid?" Draco asked. "Magical creatures who can communicate? Father always said they're just beasts, that they're _animals_, but – but Ronan _talked_ to us!"

Hagrid stopped on the path and looked down at the Slytherin. "Mind, Draco, I don' want ter say nothin' bad about nobody, but a lot o' folks think that way about magic creatures and they're _wrong_."

"But…" Draco's hands twisted together. "Father said…"

"Yer Da has a right ter his opinions, I guess, but, what do _you_ think, Draco? Now that yeh've met a centaur and spoke to one?"

"I…_I_ think…" Draco blinked up at the man. "I think they're not _animals_."

"Nope."

"But, are they dangerous?"

Harry snorted before he could help himself. Hagrid and Draco turned to him. "What's that, Harry?" Hagrid asked.

"Everything has the ability to be dangerous," Harry shook his head. "That's all."

"That's right cynical of yeh, Harry."

Harry looked away. "It's the truth."

Draco's gasp brought Harry's gaze back around. "Look, Hagrid! Red sparks!"

"You two wait here," Hagrid patted Draco on the head. "Stay on the path, I'll come back for yeh!" He tore off over Draco's protests. They heard him crashing away through the undergrowth and stood looking at each other until they couldn't hear anything but the rustling of leaves around them.

"You don't think Neville's been hurt, do you?" Draco whispered, twisting around to watch the shadows moving around them.

Harry hid a smile. "I think they'll be okay. Hagrid's here."

Draco started to nod. "Yes. He is really brave. And powerful, in his own way," he narrowed his eyes.

"There are lots of different kinds of power," Harry said, watching Draco's face. "Some of it's good, some of it's bad. A lot of it is neither."

Draco favored him with a sharp glance. "You sound like an adult, sometimes. It reminds me of –," Draco broke off and looked away.

"Of what?"

"Nothing. No one."

"No, tell me. Please."

Perhaps it was the please that did it. Draco shrugged, a stiff, uneasy gesture Harry had never seen before. "My aunt," he glanced around. "Andromeda," he whispered. "I'm not to speak of her in our house. My father forbid it."

"Why?"

"Because she married a Mu-muggle-born wizard," Draco made a face. "I heard some people say it almost made Father not marry Mother," he scuffed a toe along the ground.

"That's…stupid," Harry said. "Your parents love each other, yeah? Why would something like that stop them?" Harry frowned into the distance. He was pretty sure the Malfoys had loved each other – even if it took far too long for them to realize the mistakes they had made. Harry felt his throat tighten at the memory of the frantic way both Malfoy adults had run through the battle, searching for Draco. _Maybe it's not just the victims I have to save this time around_, Harry clenched his fists.

"I met her, once," Draco said, drawing Harry's attention back to the present. "In Diagon Alley when my mother had taken me along. She…was really nice."

"She's your aunt, of course she was nice," Harry shrugged.

Draco glanced at him. "Like your aunt?"

Harry felt his scowl form before he could control his reaction. There was a sudden, satisfied gleam in Draco's eyes. A great crunching noise, announcing Hagrid's return, kept Harry from snapping back at the blond. The gamekeeper returned pushing the two other boys in front of him.

"We'll be lucky ter catch anythin' now, with the racket you two were makin'. Ronald Weasley. I know yer brothers play pranks, but the Forest ain't no place for them!"

Ron scowled at his feet.

"Right, we're changin' groups – Neville, you stay with me an' Draco. Harry, you go with Fang an' Ron."

Harry ignored Ron's deepening scowl and patted Neville on the shoulder. Draco surprised Harry by sidling up next to Neville and the way the Slytherin started telling the other boy about their run-in with the centaurs, keeping his voice low as if he wanted only Neville to be the one to hear the tale. It got the shaky look out of Neville's eyes and an approving nod from Hagrid to boot.

_Merlin_, Harry thought as he and Ron made their way into the woods, away from the others. _What kind of things would a helpful Draco Malfoy bring this time around_?

"Did you guys see anything?" Harry broke the silence first. Ron's mouth tightened and he looked away. Harry's gut clenched. It _hurt_, to look at Ron and not see his best friend. Ron had always been a pillar of strength – _even when we had a row_, Harry rolled his eyes.

"We saw some centaurs," Harry continued past the rush of hurt. "They were really strange."

Ron just scowled some more and wouldn't look Harry's way.

"Look," Harry began, but Ron jerked to a halt, a horrified expression on his face.

Harry twisted around to follow Ron's gaze. He made a soft, involuntary sound – _the unicorn_. Its long, slender legs were stuck out at odd angles where it had fallen and its mane was spread pearly-white on the dark leaves.

Harry took a step towards it, one hand outstretched. Then, out of the shadows, a hooded figure came crawling across the ground like some stalking beast. The figure reached the unicorn, lowered its head over the wound in the animal's side and began to drink its blood.

Ron let out a terrible scream and bolted – so did Fang. The hooded figure raised its head and looked right at Harry.

_Maybe now is the time I can end it all_, Harry's heart leapt to his throat. _I can finish him _now_ and _–

A pain pierced his head, centering on his scar. Half blinded, he staggered back – _bloody Horcrux_! – He heard hooves behind him, galloping and something jumped clean over Harry, charging at the figure.

Harry fell to his knees, eyes watering from the pain. _I let the chance slip through my fingers_, he wanted to pound the ground with his fists. _I could have killed him, here and now_!

Harry looked up to see a centaur standing over him, younger-looking than the others, with white-blond hair and a palomino body.

"Hello, Firenze," Harry said without thinking.

Firenze's pale sapphire eyes pinned Harry where he knelt. "The Potter boy," he murmured. "Who already knows my name."

The sound of more galloping brought Ronan and Bane crashing through the trees. "What is this?" Bane started. "You are _helping_ a human? Remember, Firenze, we are sworn not to set ourselves against the heavens. Have we not read what is to come in the movements of the planets?"

Ronan pawed the ground. "I'm sure Firenze thought he was acting for the best."

Bane kicked his back legs in anger. "For the best! What is that to do with us? Centaurs are concerned with what has been foretold!"

"Foretold?" Firenze repeated. "This human boy knew my name!"

Silence. Harry scrubbed a hand over his face. _I'm in for it now_.

"Impossible," said Bane.

"Do you not see that unicorn?" Firenze growled. "Do you not understand why it was killed? Or have the planets not let you in on that secret? I set myself against what is lurking in this forest, Bane, yes, vowing to fight with humans along-side me, if I must, only to find the _Potter_ boy already here and that he _knows my name_. How has _that_ been missed? Surely it should have been foretold!"

Bane growled and took a step forward.

"It wasn't foretold," Harry said, too conscious of his position on the ground near those deadly hooves. "It wasn't foretold, because I _remember_ you," Harry winced, a different kind of pain slicing through his head.

He could hear the wind creak through the branches of the trees.

"Pluto is not supposed to rise to power for years," Ronan said.

Harry raised his head and squinted through the pain. "Pluto is eccentric," he managed, old astrology lessons coming back to him. "It does not always conform to the rules of logic."

The centaurs looked at each other. "He is right," Ronan finally said.

Firenze knelt down in front of Harry, his sapphire eyes shining. "Do you come as a destroyer, Harry Potter? Or do you come as a reviver?"

"A reviver," Harry said and the pain in his head vanished. _What the hell_?

"A reviver," Firenze repeated. "To what ends?"

"To save what would be lost."

"From that?" Firenze gestured at the unicorn.

"No," Harry looked past him to the other centaurs. "Your planets should tell you this: the darkness that's about to descend will wax and be destroyed – only for a worse evil to rise in the east. Am I right?"

Ronan tossed his head and stamped a hoof. "No human knows these things."

"Except me," Harry said.

Bane's expression was fierce. "You know of these things, Harry Potter?"

"I know," Harry had to suck in a deep breath. "I know that more than twenty years from now all the centaurs in the Forest will be hunted down and killed. I know that a man worse than Voldemort will rise to power and wreck more havoc, pain and suffering than Old Snakehead ever dreamed. _That_ will happen, unless I change it," he had to stop and swallow.

"Ollivander must know of this," Ronan said.

"So must Magorian," said Bane.

"Ollivander knows," Harry said. "I met with him."

"_Have_ you, Harry Potter?" Firenze tilted his head.

"Yes," Harry said. "And I intend to speak with him _again_."

The centaurs seemed to study him for a long moment. "You are aware, then, of the darkness that has taken up residence in this forest?" Firenze asked.

"Yes. I'm working on a way to get rid of him."

"All on your own?"

Harry felt the bitter smile form on his face. "Who else will do it?"

Firenze gave him a slow, solemn nod. "We will meet again, Harry Potter. I am sure of it."

"So am I," Harry shivered.

"Harry! Harry, are you all right?" Came Hagrid's shout.

"We must away," said Bane.

"Yes," said Ronan. The two centaurs galloped away.

"My stars are muddled, Harry Potter," Firenze was slow to rise. "Perhaps it will be you who clears them." Harry met the centaur's fierce gaze and inclined his head. It brought a faint smile to Firenze's face. "Be well, Harry Potter," he murmured. "Be safe." He wheeled away and was gone as Hagrid crashed into the clearing.

"Harry?" Hagrid rushed to his side, Draco and Neville hot on his heels. "All right there, Harry? What happened?"

"Voldemort," Harry said and then wanted to smack himself. _Can I please stop blurting out things, self_?

"That's – that's – that's –," Draco stuttered.

"Impossible, Harry," Hagrid knelt down, expression gentle. "You done got rid of him, lad. We don' say the name none, mind, but he's gone."

"Maybe," Harry stood, brushing off his trousers. "Everyone's all right?"

"Mate, you were the one in danger," Neville frowned at him.

Harry saw Ron lurking at the edge of the clearing, scowling at them all. "I'm fine. Centaurs came to help me. They chased him off."

"Harry," Hagrid said.

"It _can't_ be him!" Draco burst out, eyes wide. "It just _can't_."

Harry shook his head and kept his eyes to the ground as Hagrid made sure the unicorn was dead and escorted them back to the castle. Ron stormed on ahead, not waiting for Harry or Neville. The two Gryffindors waved at Draco as they split towards their own dorms, but the Slytherin seemed too distracted by his own thoughts to notice.

_How things change_, Harry thought as they stepped into the common room.

"Neville! Harry!" Hermione rushed over to them. "There you are! Was it awful? Ron looked knackered and he glared at me when I tried to say goodnight. What happened?"

"Harry thinks You-Know-Who is in the Forest!" Neville exclaimed.

Harry made a face. "Neville," he began.

"_Him_," Hermione's eyes were wide and unseeing as she tracked something only she could see in her mind. "Oh. Oh, _Harry_. If it _is_ him, then – then…"

"Hermione?" Neville put a hand on her arm.

"The _Stone_!" She burst out, arms flailing. "He'd be after the _Stone_, don't you see? It can bring people back to _life_. And what if Snape is helping him, oh, we have to go to Dumbledore – we –"

"We can't, Hermione," Harry took her shoulders and gave her a gentle shake. "Listen to me. We have no proof that it's Voldemort in the woods _or_ that anyone in the castle is trying to help him. _Yes_," he spoke before she could interrupt. "Yes, I believe someone is after the Stone, but until we have solid proof, we can't do anything."

"And Dumbledore is here," Neville added. "Everyone says Dumbledore was the only one You-Know-Who was ever afraid of. With him here, You-Know-Who won't be able to touch the Stone."

Some of the panic left Hermione's face. "Yes…yes. That makes sense."

"Come on, we need to get to bed," Harry said, giving Hermione a gentle nudge towards the girl's dormitory. "The problem will still be there in the morning." _Merlin, once a dad, always a dad_, Harry had to roll his eyes at himself.

It took a little more convincing, but Hermione went off to bed. Neville sacked out at once. Harry spent a long sleepless hour, staring up at the canopy of his bed, turning his memories over and over, but unable to tell how the events of this first year might come out the second time around.

Dawn was peeking over the eastern edge of the sky by the time he finally fell asleep.


	20. Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Nineteen

Exam week was as grueling as Harry remembered it being. This time around, however, Harry thought he did much better. The sweltering heat made everything miserable, except in the dungeons, where the cool air came as a blessed relief.

Harry didn't see much of Draco or Nott during exam week. They were all too busy preparing last minute notes. Harry was proud of his pineapple's tap dance for Professor Flitwick's practical exam. Hermione's snuffbox beat out Draco's in Transfiguration, with Harry close behind both of them. Draco and Nott were praised during their Potions final – which Harry expected. The History of Magic exam was as boring as ever.

To add to the heat, the stabbing pains from Harry's scar were back. Harry checked every night, but the mental wards he had placed on the Horcrux in his soul stayed sound. The reasons behind the pains baffled him.

With their final exam behind them, Harry, Hermione and Neville tromped down to the lake where Lee Jordan and the twins were tickling the tentacles of the giant squid. Harry exchanged waves with Fred and George before lying out on the grass and turning his face to the sun. He couldn't help the small bit of tension that refused to relax – he _still_ had no idea how to resolve the problem with Quirrell and the Stone. The last time he had been pushed on by conjecture and panic – he had reason and the knowledge of how things were probably going to play out, now. So why couldn't he figure out how to _fix_ it?

"All right there, Harry?" Neville asked. "Exams are finished! We have a week of freedom before we find out how badly we've done."

"You did fine, Neville," Hermione said. "Professor McGonagall liked your snuffbox!"

"But it had a whisker," Neville sighed.

"Just the one. Parvati's had three of them And your snuffbox had a lovely design."

Neville looked a little more cheerful when Harry checked.

Shadows fell over Harry. He shaded his eyes to see Draco and Nott standing over them. "Thank _Merlin_," Draco said, sinking to the ground next to Harry. "I thought the exams would never be over." Draco pulled off his tie with a grimace.

"I wish the heat would break," Hermione glanced up at the sky. "Or that the school had air conditioners."

Harry covered his mouth with a hand at Draco's expression. "Air _what_?"

"They cool the air," Hermione frowned. "I'm not sure how. Something to do with a motor. Mother bought one last year when the heat got so bad."

Draco blinked a few times. "Muggles can _do_ that?"

"Of course they can."

"But…" Harry met Draco's glance with raised eyebrows. "But they're _Muggles_," Draco finished weakly.

Hermione snorted. "_Muggles_ use technology to see things wizards can't. They have machines to scan for broken bones, internal bleeding. My mom and dad have machines that take images of people's teeth to see how far the decay has gone. They have airplanes that travel through the air, submarines that go deep into the ocean. There are _loads_ of things Muggles have that wizards don't – and maybe they _should_."

"What's a submarine?" Nott asked.

"A boat that goes underwater," Hermione answered. "I saw a program on the telly about them once."

"A telly?"

"A television."

"A what?"

"A _television_." Hermione laughed. "A – a box, I guess you could say. It has channels full of programs, images, like – like –"

"Wizarding pictures," Harry supplied. "Imagine a box that could play wizarding pictures, only instead of a few seconds of movement, there are hours and hours of it, whole stories played out, day after day."

Draco's eyes were huge. "No way."

"Oh, yes," Hermione said, smug. "My parents have two televisions in our house."

"Hours of moving images," Draco sounded awed as he turned to Nott.

"Intriguing," said the other Slytherin. Harry hid a laugh at the speculative look in Nott's eyes.

Then Nott gave Harry a strange, sharp glance. "Draco says you saw something in the Forest the other night."

Harry rolled his eyes, but Hermione spoke first. "We think it's Voldemort!"

Harry watched Draco, Nott and Neville flinch at the name. "Don't _say _that," Draco hissed, glancing around.

"Why ever not? It's just a _name_," Hermione sniffed.

"Why do you think it's…_him_ in the Forest?" Nott kept his eyes on Harry.

"What else is unicorn blood good for?" Harry tilted his head to one side. "I saw a man-shaped thing drinking the blood from the dead animal. I even looked it up."

"So did we," Nott said with a slow nod. "Your thesis has some merit."

"_How _did you evade being put into Ravenclaw?" Harry shook his head. Nott smirked and said nothing.

"But it can't be V-You-Know-Who in the school," Neville pointed out. "Dumbledore is here, and besides, there is always Fluffy."

"Exactly," Harry said.

"And only Hagrid knows how to deal with the dog," Neville finished. "So, there you go. It's safe."

"Except," Hermione sat up. "Don't you think it's a bit odd that what Hagrid wants more than anything else is a dragon and a stranger turns up who just happens to have an egg in his pocket? How many people wander around with dragon eggs if it's against the law? Pretty _lucky_ they found Hagrid, don't you think? If it was even luck at all."

The Slytherins stared. "How did _you_ end up in Gryffindor?" Draco asked.

"Come on," Hermione scrambled to her feet. Harry followed at a slower pace as Nott scrambled after her. _This wasn't how it happened last time,_ Harry frowned. _It's almost like they're the ones doing all the work – and yet – and yet_…_what else am I supposed to do? If I do what I did the first time…_pain seared through his mind, making his stop and put his head in his hands.

"Harry?" Neville put a hand on Harry's back.

"I'm fine," Harry managed, voice thick. "It's nothing."

Draco was there. "You have a lot of headaches. Have you seen Madam Pomfrey about them?"

"They're not headaches."

"Then what?"

"Nothing. They're nothing. Just forget it."

"But…"

"Come _on_," Hermione called.

Harry gave Draco a small push and headed for the excited witch. They found Hagrid sitting in an armchair outside his house, his trousers and sleeves rolled up, shelling peas. "Well, hello there. Finished yer exams? Got time fer a drink?"

"Yes, please," said Draco, but Hermione cut him off.

"No, we're in a hurry. Hagrid, I've got to ask you something. You know that night you won Norbert? What did the stranger playing cards look like?"

"Dunno," Hagrid shrugged. "He wouldn't take his cloak off."

Hermione shot Harry a triumphant look.

"It's not that unusual," Hagrid frowned at them. "Yeh get a lot o' funny folk in the Hog's Head – that's the pub down in the village. Mighta bin a dragon dealer, mightn' he? I never saw his face, he kept his hood up."

"What did you talk to him about, Hagrid? Did you mention Hogwarts at all?" Hermione was insistent.

"Mighta come up," Hagrid rubbed the back of his neck. "Yeah…he asked what I did, an' I told him I was gamekeeper here. He asked a bit about the sorta creatures I look after…so I told him, an' I said what I'd always really wanted was a dragon. Then…I can't remember too well, 'cause he kept buying me drinks, but let's see. Yeah, then he said he had the dragon egg and we could play cards fer it if I wanted…but he had ter be sure I could handle it, he didn' want it ter go ter any old home. So I told him, after Fluffy, a dragon would be easy!"

"And did he – did he seem interested in Fluffy?" Nott asked after sharing a look with Hermione.

"Well, yeah. How many three-headed dogs d'yeh meet, even around Hogwarts? So I told him, Fluffy's a piece o' cake if yeh know how ter calm him down, jus' play him a bit o' music an' he'll go straight off ter sleep –,' Hagrid broke off. "I shouldn'ta told yeh that! Forget I said it! Hey – where're yeh goin'?"

"Thank you, Hagrid!" Draco called as Hermione pelted off towards the castle with the rest of them hot on her heels.

* * *

"We've got to go to Dumbledore," said Hermione once they reached the entrance hall. "Hagrid told that stranger how to get past Fluffy and it was either Snape-"

"Oi," said Nott.

"Or Voldemort under that cloak – it must've been easy, once he'd got Hagrid drunk. I just hope Dumbledore believes us. Where is his office?"

"Now, look here, Granger," Draco began.

"We don't have time to argue!"

"We still don't know for sure –"

"What are all of you doing inside," came McGonagall's voice. They turned to see her carrying a large stack of brooms.

"We would like to see Professor Dumbledore," Hermione blurted out. Harry saw Nott cover his eyes with a hand.

"See Professor Dumbledore?" McGonagall repeated. "Whatever for?"

"Well, see," Harry began before Hermione could blurt anything else out.

"Professor Dumbledore left ten minutes ago," McGonagal frowned at them. "He received an urgent owl from the Ministry of Magic and flew off for London at once."

"He's _gone_?" Hermione yelped. "Now?"

"Professor Dumbledore is a very great wizard, Ms. Granger, he has many demands on his time and –"

"But this is important!"

"Something you have to say is more important than the Ministry, Ms. Granger?"

"Of course not," Draco stepped in, clamping a hand over Hermione's mouth. "It's just – uh, see, we, um. There was this game, see, and, uh…"

"We made up a study game that the Headmaster might like," Harry cut in, ignoring Hermione's furious glare. "We didn't think to show him before the exams, but now that they're over, it occurred to us."

McGonagall gave them a long, suspicious look before saying, "The Headmaster will be back tomorrow. You can show him then."

"Of course," said Nott. She frowned at them one last time and swept off.

"Merlin, you are gross!" Draco snatched his hand from Hermione's mouth once McGonagall had left their sight. "You _slimed_ me!"

"To get your hand off my face, you _git_."

"You – you – mu –," Draco stomped a foot. "Muggle!"

"Look," Harry cut in before Hermione could launch herself at Draco. "Whatever is going to happen will happen tonight." _This much I remember_. "With Dumbledore gone, the castle loses some of its strongest protections."

"So what should we do?" Neville asked.

"We should tell –"

"Snape!" Hermione exclaimed.

"Eh?"

"Good afternoon," came the Potions Master's voice.

Harry turned to see the man standing by one of the corridor intersections.

"Professor Snape!" Draco perked up. "We've got to tell you something! We've put it together, see, and…"

"A game," Harry cut in. He kept his eyes focused on the man's jaw, so Snape couldn't be able to read his mind.

"But – but –," Draco sputtered.

"A game?" Snape said. "And are you claiming all the credit for this game, Potter?"

"Of course not," Harry wanted to smack the man. A part of him – the adult part of him – knew it would be best to tell the man about their plans and suspicions, but…but. Harry had never liked the man and the feeling had been mutual, all the way up to the man's death and Harry got to see just how wrong he had been about the great git. Still, it didn't mean he had to _like_ the man, now did it? No. So there.

"You shouldn't be inside on a day like this," Snape said, after Harry realized that the silence had dragged on for a moment too long.

"You're right, Professor, sorry," _remember, Harry_, he glanced up and met the dark eyes. _He'll hate you forever, remember that. _Harry wrestled his gaze away. "Come on," Harry caught Hermione's arm. "Let's go."

"But," Draco said.

"Let's _go_," Harry said.

"Telling others what to do, Potter?" Snape's tone had gotten rough.

"No, sir. I just figured we'd get out of your way," he looked back at the man. _Out of the way, like a bloody broom closet_. _Merlin, I hope I get to move out of the cupboard under the stairs this year_. Harry looked back to Hermione. "Come on. Let's go try that thing you were talking about."

She stared at him. "The thing."

"Yes," Nott said, surprising Harry. "The – ah, charm you read in the supplemental book."

"The – oh. Yes. Of course. Right," she blinked fast.

"Have a good afternoon, Professor," Harry called over his shoulder. Snape's hands were hidden in his sleeves, but Harry could have sworn he felt that dark gaze linger on his back all the way to the door.

"Are you _mad_?" Draco burst out once they had reached the lake. "We should have _told_ him what we know! Professor Snape is an amazing wizard – he'd be able to guard the Stone, no problem –"

"But if it's Voldemort, he won't have a chance," Harry said, voice flat. His mind had begun to focus like it did when he was on the trail of a dark wizard. "Snape might be an amazing wizard, but Voldemort, even half dead, is more powerful. Never mind the fact that Snape used to be a Death Eater –"

Hermione gasped.

"How did you know that?" Draco whispered.

Harry snorted. "What, like I don't know that your father was one, too?"

"He was under the _Imperius_ charm!" Draco's cheeks had taken on a deep flush.

"Curse or not," Harry caught Draco's gaze. "They bear the mark, don't they?"

"But – but – "

"That's not to say that people can't change," Harry looked away. "Can you imagine? To make a decision like that without all the facts, only to find out later you were wrong?" He turned back to Draco. "You used to call Hermione a mudblood," he flinched. "Do you still want to?"

"Of course not!" Draco's hands were balled into fists.

"You almost did it again, back there."

"But I didn't mean it!"

"Why not?"

"Because I _know_ her!" Then Draco blinked. "I know her," he repeated, softer. "Oh. _Oh_."

"Oh," Harry agreed. "So, even if we told Snape, do you think he would go after the Stone? He'd have to face Voldemort, and if the great git realized that Snape had betrayed him, what do you think he'd _do_ to Snape? Torture would be the least of his worries, so forget about him saving the Stone."

"Then what do we do?" Neville asked.

Harry let out a breath. "I'll go."

"_You'll_ go," Nott sputtered. "Just like that, all alone?"

"Harry, you'll be _expelled_," Hermione cried.

"Don't you get it," Harry snapped. "It _doesn't matter_ if I get expelled and Voldemort gets the Stone. Then he'll be brought back to life and we're all _dead_. The man is _mad_, don't you see? All he wants is power – power and to dominate the whole world! He'll kill anyone, _everyone_, who gets in his way, he doesn't _care_. What's risking death _now_, if I don't stop him, since I'm good as dead _anyway_ if I don't!"

Hermione was staring at him, one hand over her mouth. The Slytherins seemed to be holding a silent conversation between themselves.

"I'll go with you," Neville said. They turned to him. The other boy was pale, but steady. "V-Voldemort's followers tortured my mum and dad to insanity," Neville looked at Draco, who flinched. "Your Aunt Bellatrix held my mum under the _Cruciatus_ curse for ages. She doesn't even know my name anymore, did you know?"

Draco flinched again. "I – I – I don't –"

"How is that good?" Neville continued. "To have followers who kill people because of how they were _born_? To have followers who torture people because they _can_? Is that the type of man you'd want to follow?"

"I – no – I –"

"Would you be able to do it?" Neville tilted his head to one side. Harry had never seen this side of the boy before, at least not until the Battle of Hogwarts. _Maybe it was here the whole time_. "Would you be able to torture Hermione until she died, just because of how she was born?"

"No!" Draco shouted. "Of course not! She's my _friend_, I would _never_ –"

"That's what he'll make you do," Harry said. Draco snapped his mouth shut. "There are Muggle-born and half-bloods in Slytherin, too. Would you be able to kill them, just because –"

"Stop," Draco turned away. "Just…stop." Nott put a hand on the blond's shoulder that Draco didn't shake off.

"I have to stop Voldemort," Harry said softly. "Because if I don't, all that bad stuff will happen, to us, to you, to everyone."

"You don't know that," Draco sniffed.

"But I do," Harry shivered. He looked away towards the castle, seeing the Battle, the dead, the dying, Hammerstein and – _Merlin_, his children and –

"Do you," Nott said. Harry glanced back to see the speculative gleam in the Slytherin's eyes.

"I do," Harry held that gaze.

Something passed across Nott's expression, too fast for Harry to follow. "Come on," was all he said, guiding Draco away without another look for the Gryffindors.

"I'll go with you, too," Hermione said, touching Harry on the arm. "We'll go together." She took a deep breath and a fire seemed to spark to life in her eyes. "Come on. We should go to the library. We'd better go look through some books, there might be something useful we could use…" Harry let her grab his arm and Neville's hands, intent on dragging them back towards the castle. _It's not the same_, Harry bowed his head and let Hermione's words wash over him. _But I'll stop him. I promise_.


	21. Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty

After dinner, the three of them sat in the common room, ticking down the hours, playing backgammon. Most of the house left them alone – save for Fred and George, who bothered Harry and Neville for a few rounds of Exploding Snap. Hermione ignored them all in favor of skimming through her notes. The twins left, yawning, near eleven, along with Lee Jordan. Harry had stashed his invisibility cloak, along with Hagrid's flute, in the corner near his chair.

"It's time," Harry said, reaching for the cloak. "Let's put the cloak on here and make sure it covers all of us." They shuffled under the cloak. It fit all three of them with ease.

They crept out the portrait hole and out into the dark corridors. They skirted a mischievous Peeves by the Charms classroom, and narrowly escaped a curious Mrs. Norris near one set of stairs. They were almost to the third floor when the hair on the back of Harry's neck stood on end.

He stopped, causing the others to crash into him. Harry pulled his wand, his heart racing as two blurry shapes detached from the wall and stepped in front of them.

"Harry?" Draco's voice was a whisper.

"_Draco_?"

One blurry form snapped into focus. Draco Malfoy stood in front of them, eyes a touch red, but his expression determined.

Harry slid out from under the cloak. The second blurry form vanished to reveal Nott. Hermione and Neville both peeked at them from under the cloak's edge.

"How'd you do that?" Hermione demanded.

"Magic," Nott drawled.

"Show me."

"Later," Harry shook his head, keeping his eyes on Draco. "You're here," he said.

"Of course we're here," Draco tossed his head. "Did you think we'd allow you to go alone and get all the glory for yourselves?"

"Hey, now," Hermione began.

"Besides," Draco frowned at them. "You're Gryffindors. Like as not, you'd just barge in and hope for the best. If you're going to survive and all that, you'll need our help. You're unable to finesse your way out of a box."

Harry couldn't help his small laugh. "All right," he said before Hermione could snap. "All right. We don't have much time, so come on," he ducked back under the cloak while the Slytherins recast their spells – Harry had forgotten about the Disillusionment Charm. How could he be so dense?

There was no time to fret about it. A few second later, they were there, outside the third-floor corridor – and the door was already open.

"Someone's been here," Harry heard Nott's whisper.

"Yeah," Harry slipped from the cloak and pulled out Hagrid's flute. "If you want to go back," he told the others. "I won't blame you. This is going to be dangerous."

"Don't be stupid," said Nott.

"We're coming with you," said Neville.

Harry nudged the door further open. As it creaked, low, rumbling growls met their ears. All three of the dog's noses sniffed madly in their direction. Harry ducked out of sight around the crack.

"There's a harp at its feet. Someone has _definitely_ been here," he told them. "Fluffy wakes the moment the music stops, so," he raised the flute.

"Don't be daft, Harry," Draco snapped. The Slytherin raised his wand and said a spell Harry didn't recognize. A woman's soft voice began to sing. Harry glanced in the room to see the beast's eyes begin to droop. The dog's growls eased as they slid in the door – it tottered on its paws and fell to its knees, then it slumped to the ground, fast asleep.

"Keep it going," Harry warned Draco as Hermione and Neville slipped out of the cloak. They scuttled to the trap door. They could feel the dog's hot, smelly breath as they approached the giant head. Harry got the trapdoor open and peered inside.

"I'll go first," he told them. "Keep it playing," he told Draco again. The blond rolled his eyes, but nodded.

Harry dropped into the hole. Cold, damp air rushed past him as he fell. He landed with a funny, sort of muffled thump on something soft. _Devil's Snare_, he remembered after a few, frantic blank moments. _Come _on_, Harry. Get a grip_.

"It's okay!" He called up. "One at a time, wait for an all clear. There's not much space."

Harry struggled with the blasted plant as Neville, Hermione, Nott and then Draco dropped down with him.

"It's Devil's Snare!" Neville yanked at his feet.

"We must be miles under the school," Hermione peered around.

"Get it _off_!" Draco's struggles had ensnared him under the vines.

"We need a fire, or bright light!" Neville snapped. "Hurry!"

"Hold still," Harry pulled out his wand.

Hermione was faster. She snapped out a spell Harry didn't catch, but recognized as the bluebell flames burst to life. The plant released the boys, cringing away from the light and warmth.

"Thank goodness you're good at Herbology," Draco said to Neville, then looked away.

"Er, thanks," Neville rubbed at the back of his neck.

"This way," Harry said, pointing down a stone passageway. All they could hear apart from their own footsteps was the gentle drop of water trickling down the walls. The passageway sloped downward, deeper into the earth.

"Can you hear something?" Neville whispered.

Harry nodded. A soft rustling and clinking seemed to be coming from up ahead.

"Do you think it's a ghost?" Neville asked.

"It's wings," Harry said. He caught Nott giving him another odd look, but dismissed it. They reached the end of the passageway and saw before them a brilliantly lit chamber, its ceiling arching high above them. It was full of small, jewel-bright birds, fluttering and tumbling all around the room. On the opposite side of the chamber was a heavy wooden door.

"Do you think they'll attack us if we cross the room?" Neville glanced up at the creatures.

"Yes," Nott said, eyes narrowed on the creatures. "They don't look very vicious, but if they all swooped down at once, it could be dangerous." Then he cut a glance at Harry. "You were right, wings."

Harry shrugged it off. "They're not really birds," he said. "They're keys. We need the right one to open the door." He turned to see them staring at him. "What?"

"You know this, how?" Nott demanded.

Harry blinked a few times and shrugged. "I, uh, just…do?"

Nott scowled at him.

"So what do we do?" Hermione asked.

"_Broomsticks_," Draco breathed. He pointed.

"We have to catch the right one," Harry nodded.

"But there must be hundreds up there!"

Nott stalked over to the door, taking them all by surprise. The boy had his shoulders hunched, as if waiting for the flying keys to start dive-bombing him at any second. When nothing happened, the Slytherin ran the rest of the way to the door and knelt down to examine the lock.

"Look for a big, old-fashioned one – probably silver, like the handle," Nott called.

"Right," Harry gave Hermione a nudge. "You and Neville go over with Nott. Draco, I'll need your help."

"Me?" Draco's eyes went wide.

"Yeah," Harry smiled. "Come on." Draco scrambled after him. They each grabbed a broom and sped into the air.

"We're looking for one with bright blue wings," Harry told him. "The feathers will be all crumpled on one side. It's big, too."

"A lot of them are big. And how do you know it's blue?"

Harry ignored the last question. "I need you to help me to break it off from the flock. See, there," Harry reached out and tugged at Draco's arm. "There, that one."

"I see it."

"I need you to swoop down and scatter them, but keep below the target key. It should shoot up. I'll come from above."

"But…"

"_Please_, Draco."

The blond shut his mouth and nodded. "Say when."

"On three. One, two…_three_."

Draco dived. The keys were spooked, just as Harry had anticipated. Harry streaked after it, ignoring the sharp pain as one key scored his cheek. He pinned the blue-winged key against the wall, feeling the feathery brush of wings against his palm before it went quiet. Harry and Draco dropped to the ground. Harry ran for the door, jammed the key in the lock and twisted it open. The key took flight again, looking very battered now that it had been caught twice.

"Ready?" Harry asked the others, his hand on the door handle. They nodded. He pulled to the door open.

The next chamber was so dark they couldn't see anything at all. As they stepped into it, light flooded the room to reveal an astonishing sight.

They were standing on the edge of a huge chessboard behind the black chessmen, which were all taller than they were and carved form looked like black stone. Facing them, way across the chamber, were the white pieces.

"Now what do we do?" Neville whispered.

"We play our way across," said Harry.

"But…"

"He's right," said Nott. "Look, there are five spots missing on the board. It's a good thing we came along," he muttered. "I bet you're rubbish at chess."

"Harry's decent at chess," Hermione snapped.

"But I'm better," Draco tossed his head. "All right, this is what we need to do. Harry –"

"You're just going to take over, just like that?" Hermione demanded.

"It's all right, Hermione," Harry patted her shoulder. "If Draco says he's that good, we have to believe him. I only win half the time. We need better odds than that."

"Thank you," Draco bit out with a glare for Hermione. "Now, as I was saying…"

They took their places on the board. Draco took the knight's position, sitting up on the rock-hewn horse for a better view of the game. It was unlike Ron's game, Harry mused as they began. It was very slow and probing, Harry could see the concentration on Draco's face as they picked their way across the board to the white king. _Ron was always so sure of himself in chess. Of course, he rarely lost, so he had a right to be confident_. Harry shook his head to clear away the memories. He needed to focus on the here and now.

"Oh, damn," Harry heard Draco mutter. "Oh, buggering damn."

"Draco!" Hermione gasped.

"Neville," Draco twisted around to look at the other boy. "Neville, I – there's no other way." The Slytherin was chalky pale. The board was almost empty of pieces, the remains of both black and white chessmen huddled along the far wall.

"I…see it," Neville gave a slow nod. He was on the other black knight's horse.

"I – there might be…"

"No," Neville took a deep breath. "Do it. We need to hurry and there's no other way, right?"

Harry glanced at Draco, who had screwed his eyes shut. "Yes," the other boy choked out.

"Then do it," Neville said.

"But…" Hermione whispered.

"Move, Neville," Draco opened his eyes.

Harry twisted around to watch Neville. The Gryffindor looked almost serene as he moved forward. The white queen pounced. She struck at Neville's head, but the stone horse bucked up, taking the blow. Neville was thrown to the floor – Hermione screamed, but stayed on her square – as the white queen dragged Neville to one side.

"Right," Draco's voice was shaky. "Theo, move three spaces to the left."

"But Neville!" Hermione cried.

"Do it, Theo!"

The Slytherin moved to checkmate. The white king took off his crown and threw it at Draco's feet. The chessmen parted and bowed, leaving the door ahead clear.

Draco ran for Neville.

"We need to hurry," Nott caught Harry's arm before he could join them. Hermione moved between them.

"Harry, _go_," Draco said, eyes bright. "I'll take care of him. I promise."

Harry closed his eyes for a second and drew in a sharp breath. Then he opened his eyes and ran for the door, Nott and Hermione hot on his heels.

"Sprout's, Flitwick's and McGonagall's tests are down," Harry told the others. "Quirrell's is next, but the troll is already taken care of."

"What – wait – how did –"

Harry ignored Hermione's sputters as he pushed the far door open. A disgusting odor filled their nostrils. Harry put his sleeve over his mouth and skirted the prone form of the troll in the middle of the room, out cold from a bloody lump on the top of its head.

Harry pulled open the next door, Nott bolting in ahead of him, slamming the heavy wooden slab behind Hermione to keep the stench out.

"How do you _know_ these things?" Nott demanded.

"It's a thing," Harry shrugged it off. "Oh, bloody hell. This one," he stared at the table that held seven different bottles.

"What – _this _one? Harry…"

"Not now," Harry shook his head. "Come on. I'm pants at logic puzzles. It's good you two are here."

Nott snapped his mouth shut and exchanged a long look with Hermione that Harry caught out of the corner of his eye. Harry turned away and strode forward. He couldn't remember which vial he had drunk, all those years ago. It was one of the things he could never recall, even as an adult, before he'd gone back in time. The memory had never been clear to him – he'd been too focused on Ron's injury and then what had happened next for it to really register.

They stepped over the threshold. A fire sprang up behind them in the doorway, a deep violet color. At the same instant, black flames shot up in the doorway leading outward. They were trapped.

"Look!" Nott seized a roll of paper, laying it next to the bottles. Hermione crowded in next to him as they poured over the riddle Harry knew lay on the sheet.

"Logic puzzles," Hermione breathed.

"Exactly," Nott nodded. "Let's see…" The two bent together, whispering as they moved over the lines of the riddle, pointing to one bottle or another from time to time. It was so _strange_ to see them like that, huddled over a problem, working together. Good, but strange.

"Got it!" Hermione exclaimed. "The smallest bottle will get you through the black flames. That one," she pointed, "Gets us through the purple flames."

"Go back and get the others," Harry took up the tiny bottle. "There's only enough for one, anyhow. Get Neville to Madam Pomfrey."

"You're going alone?"

Harry let out a huff. "I'll always be alone for this part," he shook his head.

"But that's – that's – _You-Know-Who_!"

"Yeah," Harry held up the bottle. "I know."

"He'll _kill_ you!" Nott cried.

"Not yet," Harry met Nott's eyes. "Hurry back, please. Get Neville to the Infirmary."

"I'm going to get you help," Nott growled, eyes bright.

"You'd better live," Hermione added.

"Go on," Harry pushed the big bottle at Hermione. The Gryffindor stared at Harry for a long moment and then drank, handing the vial to Nott before turning to dash through the flames. Nott gave Harry one last irritated glare before tossing back what was left, a strange blush on his cheeks, as he turned to follow Hermione through the flames.

Harry cradled the small vial in his hand for a moment, staring at the spot where his friends had disappeared. "We meet yet again," he murmured and uncorked the vial, draining it with one gulp.

He turned. "Here I come," he said, and stepped through the black flames.


	22. Chapter TwentyOne

Chapter Twenty-One

The chamber was oval, as Harry remembered, with stone pillars at the perimeter. In the center depression was the Mirror of Erised, along with Quirrell.

"Well, well, Harry Potter," Quirrell turned to face him.

"Piss off, you bloody wanker," Harry growled. "I've always wanted to say that to you."

Surprise flitted across Quirrell's face. "No exclamations, Potter? No surprise? No denial? You seem almost composed, as if –," his eyes narrowed. "You _were_ expecting me."

"I know all about you," Harry snapped. "I know you tried to jinx my broom, I know you let the troll in at Halloween. I know it was you in the Forest and I know about the monster you've got _in the back of your head_."

Quirrell staggered back a step. "You – impossible!"

"Go to hell!"

Quirrell suddenly shuddered, putting his head in his hands. "No – no, Master – please –"

Movement in the mirror caught Harry's eye. He saw himself, one hand in his pocket, giving himself a distinct nod. Harry touched his pants, feeling the weight of the Stone resting against his thigh. _Right, then_. _That takes care of that part_.

"_The boy, Quirrell. The boy!_"

Harry shivered. He'd know that voice anywhere. He shuffled back, wand held tight in his hand as Quirrell straightened, hands coming away from his face. The man turned, turban coming undone. Where there should have been the back of Quirrell's head, there was a face that still haunted Harry's dreams.

"_Harry Potter_," Voldemort hissed.

"Voldemort," Harry bit out.

"_You know who I am_?" The face attempted a smile. A shudder ran down Harry's back. "_Do you see what I have become? Mere shadow and vapor, all because of a silly little baby. Because of…_you."

"You lost because you were a fool," Harry snarled. "You're a fool and a coward, and I won't let you hurt anyone, ever again!"

"_I, a fool? No, Potter. You are the fool. Now give me that Stone in your pocket!_"

"No!"

"_Ah, bravery, how touching. I always value bravery. Yes, boy, your parents were brave, just like you. I killed your father first. He put up such a courageous fight. Your mother needn't have died, you know. She tried to protect you. All she had to do, to live, was let me finish what needed be done. Both of them could have lived, if not for you._"

"You're a liar," Harry was so angry he shook. "You're a liar, a thief and a crackpot to boot!"

"_GIVE ME THE STONE_!"

"NEVER!"

"_SEIZE HIM_!"

Harry dodged as Quirrell lunged towards him. The Defense Against Dark Arts professor snarled out a spell Harry didn't recognize – ropes sprang out of thin air and wrapped tight around Harry's body. He cursed, snapping out a cutting curse, but he wasn't quite fast enough. Quirrell's hand closed on Harry's wrist. A needle-sharp pain seared across his scar, stealing his breath. The agony lasted just moments, then Quirrell's hold was gone.

Harry looked up to see Quirrell hunched over in pain, his hand blistering before Harry's eyes. _That's right_, Harry gulped down a breath. _Mum's gift!_

"_GET THE BOY! NOW QUIRRELL, NOW_!"

Harry seized his chance. He darted to the man and pushed him over. Quirrell cried out, one hand flailing, striking Harry across his face so hard black spots bloomed in front of his eyes.

_No time, Harry_, he struggled to stay conscious. He and Quirrell grappled on the floor. Quirrell's hands locked around Harry's throat for a moment, before Quirrell screamed and jerked away again, hands shiny and the skin starting to peel away.

_Thank you, Mum_, Harry's throat pulsed in time to his heart. Harry could hear Voldemort's muffled shouts as if from a long distance. The pain from his scar was almost blinding, but Harry knew what he had to do. He lunged at Quirrell, whose kick caught Harry in the side, hard enough that all breath rushed from his lungs and he heard a distinct _crack_. Blood dripped from his split lip where Quirrell's lucky backhand had caught him.

Harry struggled to his knees, only to have Quirrell land on top of him, hands around Harry's neck once again. Harry struck out, blind, even as Quirrell sobbed and shrieked with pain, his hands never leaving Harry's neck. Harry caught the man's face and held on, fingers digging in as the man jerked and writhed above him. Quirrell screamed and tried to wrench away from him.

The pain in Harry's head was blinding. He couldn't see – all he could hear was Quirrell's terrible shrieks and Voldmort's demands of "KILL HIM!" and other voices, maybe in Harry's own head, calling his name in the tones of his children and – and –

Quirrell's weight was wrenched off of him, but Harry was already lost, falling into blackness, down…down…down…

* * *

Something gold was glinting just above him. It looked like the Snitch mobile Harry had gotten James' crib, but that was in the house, the one that had been destroyed and James – his children – _Voldemort_ –

Harry jerked awake with a gasp and glanced around. He wasn't home, it hadn't been a dream – it was – he was – there was _somebody by the bed_ – and –

"Good afternoon, Harry," said Dumbledore.

Harry put a hand over his eyes, avoiding that knowing gaze. _What did he see? Did he see anything at all? Oh, Merlin…_

"Harry?"

"Headmaster," Harry croaked out. "The – there was – the Stone and –," he fumbled for something his eleven-year-old self would say and came up blank.

"Calm yourself, my dear boy," Dumbledore said, voice gentle. "Quirrell does not have the Stone."

_It worked_? Harry let his hand drop. "It's safe?"

"Harry, please relax. Madam Pomfrey –"

"Does Voldemort have the Stone?" Harry raised his head to meet the man's eyes, confident in his own mental shields once again. _I can do this. Come on, Harry_. He caught the surprise and sorrow in the old man's face.

"You know," was all Dumbledore said.

"That Voldemort isn't dead? Yes," Harry took a breath. "That he's going to try and kill me – going to keep on trying to kill me until he succeeds? Yes. I know. I know how he killed my parents. I know _everything_." He hadn't meant for that to come out quite that fierce.

"Ah, Harry. My dear boy," Dumbledore sighed.

Harry shook his head and looked away. "Is it destroyed?"

"Is what destroyed?"

"The Stone. I had it in my pocket, but Voldemort knew where it was. He didn't get it, did he? Did you destroy it before he could use it?"

"Yes," Dumbledore said.

"What happened?"

"Professor Quirrell did not manage to find the Stone, but, instead, it seems he decided to go after you," Dumbledore sounded perturbed. "No sooner had I reached London than it became clear to me that the place I should be at was the one I had just left. I arrived just in time to pull Quirrell off of you –"

"So that was you."

"I feared I might be too late."

Harry nodded, eyes on his clenched hands. "You almost were." He caught the Headmaster's slight flinch.

"Your struggles with the man nearly killed you. For one terrible moment there, I was afraid it had."

"But the Stone was kept safe?"

"Yes."

Harry tensed. "What about Neville? And Hermione and Draco and –"

A small smile bloomed on the old wizard's face. "Your friends are fine. Young Mr. Longbottom had a concussion, but Madam Pomfrey was able to heal him right up."

"How long have I been asleep?"

"Three days."

Harry glanced at the side table, which was piled high with what looked like half a candy shop.

"Tokens from your friends and admirers," Dumbledore gestured. Harry made a face, which made the old man chuckle. "What happened down in the dungeons between you and Professor Quirrell is a complete secret, so, naturally, the whole school knows. I believe your friends, Misters Fred and George Weasley, were responsible for trying to send you a toilet seat. No doubt they thought it would amuse you. Madam Pomfrey, however, felt it might not be very hygienic and confiscated it."

Harry hid a faint smile and ducked his head. He took in a breath, "So," he let it out. "What happens now? What about Quirrell? Is he – is he…?"

"Voldemort left Quirrell to die," Dumbledore looked away. "I am sorry, my boy. Voldemort has as little mercy for his followers as he has for his enemies."

Harry nodded and winced, feeling the ache in his head start to throb. "So he's dead. I killed him."

"Ah, my boy. You…"

"It was inevitable, is that you're going to say?"

"It pains me to see you so cynical, my boy."

Harry stifled a snort. "It's the way the world works, isn't it?"

"Harry…"

"What about," Harry raised his hands and held them out, derailing the old wizard's speech.

"Your mother died to save you, as you know," Dumbledore gazed at him with a deep frown for a long moment. "If there is one thing Voldemort cannot understand, it is love. He didn't realize that love as powerful as your mother's for you leaves its own mark. Not a scar, no visible sign…to have been loved so deeply, even though the person who loved you is gone, will give us some protection forever."

_If only that worked on spells as well_, Harry rubbed at his eyes as Dumbledore looked away. _Maybe then my children could have – they could have_…His breath caught as his heart clenched. He pushed the memories aside, gently, saving his sorrow for another time and place, when he could be alone.

"So," Harry said, voice rough. "Everyone is safe?"

Dumbledore turned back to him. "Yes, Harry."

"And the Stone's been destroyed, so Voldemort can't get it."

"Yes."

"Is – Is your friend Nicolas…"

"Ah, you _did_ do the task properly, didn't you?"

For a breathless moment, Harry wanted to hate the old man. Then he pushed it away. "Sir?"

"My dear friend Nicolas and his wife Perencelle have enough elixir stored away to set their affairs in order."

"I see," Harry looked away.

"Do not mourn, Harry," Dumbledore sighed. "For them, it shall be like going to bed after a very, _very_ long day. After all, to the well-organized mind, death is but the next great adventure."

Harry nodded. "All right. All...right."

"Anymore questions, Harry?"

Harry glanced up at the sudden hesitation in the Headmaster's tone. _What else can I ask that won't draw suspicion_? "No," he said after a moment. "I don't think I have any more questions to ask," _that you will answer_, he finished in his head.

Sorrow, again, seemed to pass over the old man's face. "Then I shall leave you to rest, my dear boy. You should start on your sweets. Ah!" Dumbledore turned to the table. "Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans!"

Harry had to smile at Dumbledore's antics. He thought he saw someone move at the doorway, but when he looked up, the space was empty.

* * *

It took some pleading, but Madam Pomfrey allowed Harry's friends to visit, "_Just_ five minutes," she warned.

"Harry!" He heard Hermione call as she darted to the bed. Trailing behind her was Neville, Nott and Draco.

"Oh, Harry, we were sure you were going to – Dumbledore was so worried –"

Harry smiled and then winced as it pulled at the cut on his lip. Why Pomfrey hadn't healed it, Harry didn't know, or why the aches and bruises still lingered on his body. _Maybe it's a magical thing_. He shrugged the thought away.

"Neville," Harry reached out to touch the boy's arm. "All right?"

"I'm a sight better than _you_," Neville said, eyes huge.

"The whole school's talking about it," Draco elbowed his way forward and sat on the edge of Harry's bed. "What _really_ happened?"

Harry paused for a moment and then told them a slightly edited version of events; Quirrell's attack, Voldemort's orders and their struggle on the ground. Draco had a hand around Hermione's arm as Harry finished his tale.

"So that's it? The Stone's gone?" Neville demanded. "Flamel's just going to _die_?"

"Yes. Dumbledore said that to a 'well-organized mind, death is but the next great adventure'." Harry wrinkled his nose.

"I always knew he was off his rocker," Nott mused.

"So what happened with you?" Harry looked between them. "After I left?"

"Well, we got back all right," Nott butted in before Hermione could open her mouth. "Draco had gotten Neville to come around. We dashed back to the brooms and used those to get out. We found Professor Snape and Dumbledore in the entrance hall."

"Professor Snape?" Harry went still.

"Yes," Hermione said. "I _know_. I was wrong. I can't believe it!"

Harry huffed out a laugh.

"_Anyway_," Nott fussed at them. "We barely got a word out when Dumbledore said, 'Harry's gone after him, hasn't he?' And hurtled off to the third floor. I thought Professor Snape was going to _snap_."

"He ran after the Headmaster," Hermione cut in. "He _was_ trying to protect you, it turns out."

"I _told_ you," Draco sniffed.

"Oh, stuff it."

"Hey!"

Harry watched the interactions between his friends with a smile. Something seemed to have…eased between them, some invisible line had finally been crossed. Madam Pomfrey bustled out moments later to herd them away. Harry waved to them all, but one thought stayed lodged in the back of his mind. _Was Professor Snape there to rescue me, too_?

* * *

After a good night's sleep, Harry felt back to normal. "Please, Madam Pomfrey?" Harry pleaded with the woman as she finished up the last of her spells to mend the bruises and cuts on Harry's face. _Finally_. "I would like to go to the end-of-year feast, please?"

"Professor Dumbledore says you are allowed to go," she said as she fussed over his blankets. "And you are to eat an entire plate of food, young man. You are far too thin."

"Yes, ma'am."

"You also have another visitor."

Harry looked up to see Hagrid shuffle into the infirmary. Madam Pomfrey left them alone as the gamekeeper babbled apologies at Harry. Harry hastened to calm the man down.

"It's all right," he told the man yet again. "Here, have some candy. Please."

Hagrid wiped his nose with the back of his hand and said, "That reminds me. I've got yeh a present."

"You did?" Desperate hope leapt into his throat.

"Young Draco helped me, along with Dumbledore," Hagrid handed over a familiar leather-bound book.

"Draco helped you _and_ Dumbledore?" Harry cradled it to his chest.

"We all sent off owls ter all yer parents' old school friends. Draco's mum had some photos, too. D'yeh like it?"

Harry bent over the book, heart full to bursting. "Yes, Hagrid. I do. Thank you so very, very much." _A different path to the same place. Oh, thank Merlin. I got the photos back._

* * *

Harry made his way down to the end-of-year feast alone that night. He had been held up by Madam Pomfrey's fussing. The Great Hall was already full. Unlike the last time, however, no House color decorated the walls. Students' voices were abuzz about the lack of ornaments, since everyone _knew_ Ravenclaw had won, just over Slytherin, because Ravenclaw had demolished Gryffindor in their last Quidditch match of the season.

When Harry walked in, there was a sudden hush and then everyone started talking at once. He slipped into a seat between Neville and Hermione at the Gryffindor table and tried to ignore the fact that people were standing up to look at him. Harry caught sight of Draco and Nott sitting at the far end of the Slytherin table – but Blaise Zabini had moved to join them, as well as a few second year Slytherins Harry didn't recognize. He gave Draco a brilliant smile and a wave. The blond grinned back at Harry. Nott just rolled his eyes.

Harry glanced at the high table to see Snape's irritated glower and Professor Flitwick's confused expression. Dumbledore arrived before the confusion could go on much longer. The babble died away as Dumbledore took his place at the high table.

"Another year gone!" Dumbledore beamed at them. "And I must trouble you with an old man's wheezing waffle before we sink our teeth into this delicious feast. What a year it has been! Hopefully your heads are all a little fuller than they were. You have the whole summer ahead to get them nice and empty before next year starts."

There was scattered laughter.

"Now, as I understand it, the House Cup here needs awarding, and the points stand thus; in fourth place, Hufflepuff, with three hundred and fifty-two; in third, Gryffindor, with three hundred and ninety; Slytherin has four hundred and twenty-six and Ravenclaw, four hundred and seventy-two."

A mass of cheering went up.

"Yes, yes, well done, students," said Dumbledore. "However, recent events must be taken into account."

The room went still. Harry met Dumbledore's eyes. _Don't let Gryffindor win alone_, Harry wanted to shout at the man. _It wouldn't be fair_.

"Ahem," Dumbledore adjusted his glasses. "I have a few last minute points to award, you see, which is why no banners have been arrayed."

Noise burst out in the hall. Professor Flitwick looked livid.

"First," Dumbledore raised his hands for silence. "To Neville Longbottom, for exceptional knowledge of Herbology in a crisis: twenty points!"

Gryffindor cheers erupted around them. Neville's face went scarlet.

"Second, to Draco Malfoy, for the best played game of chess Hogwarts has seen in many years, I award Slytherin twenty points."

Harry watched as Draco froze as still as stone as his house began to cheer.

"Third, to Miss Hermione Granger and Theodore Nott, for the use of cool logic in the face of fire, I award Slytherin and Gryffindor both twenty points."

Hermione buried her face in her arms; Harry strongly suspected she had burst into tears. Nott had wide eyes as Draco clapped him on the back and the school cheered.

"Fourth, to Mr. Harry Potter," said Dumbledore. The room hushed. "For outstanding courage and maturity, I award Gryffindor house fifty points." The Gryffindor table burst into cheers.

Dumbledore nodded, and motioned for silence. "One last, and final award, goes to both Gryffindor and Slytherin house as a whole. For learning how to work together, seeing past enmity and house history, sixty points for each house!"

The din was deafening. Dumbledore beamed at the students, eyes twinkling. "As I am sure you can tell, we now have a record first for Hogwarts history: a tie! Which means," Dumbledore called out over the storm of applause. "We need a change of decoration!" He clapped his hands. In an instant there was a mix of both Slytherin and Gryffindor hangings in the Hall. Both the Slytherin serpent and the Gryffindor lion went up against the wall behind the high table.

Harry didn't dare look at Snape. Or McGonagall. Instead he threw his arms around Neville and laughed as Hermione started to babble out Hogwarts historical facts. He caught Draco's eye in the din and grinned – the Slytherin rolled his eyes, but grinned back. It was one of the best evenings in Harry's new life.

* * *

Harry had almost forgotten that the exam results were still to come, but come they did. To no one's surprise, Hermione had the best grades of the first years. Theodore Nott was right behind her. He swore he'd pass her next year when they all met up at the lake to go over their scores.

Harry and Draco had passed well, with Draco in fifth place over all, Harry in seventh. Harry had held back at the exams on purpose, so he didn't mind his score. Neville was floored to come away with good marks – even passing Potions, which he had thought he had failed. Fred and George were ecstatic for them, and even Ron was acting halfway decent towards Harry for the last few days of term.

Then it was as if time began to speed. Term came to an end with a raucous house party full of sweets and cake. Then their wardrobes had to be emptied, their trunks were packed, Neville's toad was found lurking in the corner of the toilets; notes were handed out to all students, warning them not to use magic over the holidays, all of it the rush of end of term that Harry remembered.

Hagrid came to take them down to the fleet of boats that sailed across the lake – Harry wasn't sure who was more surprised when Draco gave the man an impulsive hug and darted away. They boarded the Hogwarts Express; Harry, Hermione, Neville, Draco and Theo, as he asked to be called with an annoyed huff, all piled into one car as they rode back to King's Cross Station.

It took a while to pile out of the train and into the station. Harry spotted wizarding families waiting for their children on the platform – he and Hermione, he knew, would have to go across the barrier to meet up with theirs.

Draco pulled them aside before he left. "I'd introduce you to my mum, but my father's here," the Slytherin said in a rush. "He's – he's – he's not a bad man. He's – it's just…"

"He's your dad," Harry shrugged. "I get it." Draco seemed to sag in relief at Harry's words.

"Owl us," Hermione said, surprising Harry – and Draco by the look of it. "What, he can't forbid you, can he?"

A slow smile spread across Draco's face. "I – I will," he said.

"So will I," Theo came up and nudged Draco. "Harry, Hermione, Neville," the Slytherin gave them a strange, formal nod. "See you next year!" Then he pulled Draco away. Harry saw them approach an aristocratic group, then the crowd surged and he lost sight of them in the rush.

"Do you – would you like to come visit this summer?" Neville asked as families started to depart. "Both of you?"

"Oh, really?" Hermione lit up.

"I'd love to," Harry said.

"Ah, Mr. Potter," Mrs. Longbottom's voice called. They turned to see Neville's Gran approach, her stuffed hat making people move out of her way. "And you must be Ms. Granger," Mrs. Longbottom said. "A pleasure to meet you."

"Can they come visit, Gran?" Neville asked. "Please?"

Mrs. Longbottom smiled, a small dimple appearing at the corner of her mouth. "We would be delighted to have you," she said. "Come along, Neville. The floo lines are horrendous."

"I'll owl you!" Neville called as his Gran led them away.

"Hasn't it been _amazing_?" Hermione gushed as they waited in line to pass through the barrier.

"It's been one wild ride."

"Harry! Hermione!" Fred and George appeared behind them. "Where have the others gotten to?"

"They left already," Harry smiled at the twins.

"Bother," said George.

"We were going to have you all over," finished Fred. "Can you just imagine Ron's face?"

Harry had to laugh. "You can invite me any time," he said. "The less I spend –," he broke off and shrugged. He ignored Hermione's look. Then it was their turn to pass through the barrier, Fred and George hot on their heels.

"There he is! Mom, look! There he is!"

Harry froze at the familiar voice. He turned to see the Weasley family gathered on the platform, waiting for Ron and the twins.

_Ginny_, Harry felt his heart lurch. _Oh, Ginny._

"Come on," the twins herded Harry and Hermione to the group of red heads. Ron's habitual scowl seemed to be softer than usual. "Mum, Dad, this is Harry and Hermione," Fred and George said together.

"It's very nice to meet you," Mrs. Weasley smiled down at them.

"Thank you for the fudge and sweater," Harry smiled back at her, unable to look at Ginny.

"Oh, my parents must be lost again," Hermione was saying when they were interrupted.

"Ready, are you?"

Harry turned to see Uncle Vernon, purple-faced and furious as he glared at Harry. He didn't see Aunt Petunia or Dudley anywhere. Harry _did_ see, however, Snape standing by the barrier, watching all of them.

_Oh, Merlin_, Harry sighed.

"You must be Harry's family!" Mrs. Weasley held out a hand.

"In a manner of speaking," Vernon snapped, dismissing her with a sneer. "Hurry up, boy. Come one, come on," he grabbed for Harry's arm. Harry dodged, but that put a glitter of rage in Vernon's eyes.

_Merlin, what the hell is going on now_? Harry had never seen Uncle Vernon _that_ angry before.

"See you over the summer," Harry told Hermione and surprised them both with a hug. Vernon made an impatient noise behind him.

"Ah, Harry?" Hermione clutched at his shoulders.

"Don't worry about it," Harry let her go and waved at the Weasleys, not liking the speculative looks on Fred and George's faces. Harry couldn't even look at Ginny – it hurt too much. He let Vernon take his arm and hustle them out of the station, ignoring the sharp bite of the man's fingers or the growling curses the man spat at the loiterers in their path.

Harry twisted back once to wave, seeing the Granger family arrive for Hermione. Snape, he noted, was still at the barrier, watching Uncle Vernon and Harry with an unreadable expression on his face.

_Bizarre_, Harry sighed and ducked away from a cuff on the ear. _Merlin, I hope this summer is different than I remember. I'd love to get Dudley's second bedroom sometime this year_…

He tuned the muggle world out as Vernon hustled them to the car. He had passed one test – and done it differently, as Ollivander had said. Now he just had to figure out how he was going to survive the rest of his life – and accomplish everything he meant to achieve using different ways to get the same ends.

_I can do this_, he promised the memory of his children, the memory of everyone he had lost and loved and outlived. _I promise_.

The End

* * *

Thank you all for reading!

Final disclaimer: This work is in no way mine, I do not make any profit from it.


End file.
